


Ghost Stories

by Jaakkola



Series: Jaakko Listened to a Song and Wrote About It (and Now That's Your Problem) [7]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Aftermath of Torture, Alcohol, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Coming of Age, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Loss, Family Secrets, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Late Night Conversations, Loss, Loss of Identity, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character(s), Mutual Pining, Philosophy, Relationship(s), Sex for Favors, Sexual Assault, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 57,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28719177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaakkola/pseuds/Jaakkola
Summary: As I saidI don't believe in ghostsBut that doesn't matter, reallyI don't think you did eitherI think I'm about to find out what it actually feels like to be hauntedA collection of ghost stories, and the ghosts Shaw knew.
Relationships: Amber Kearnen & Mathias Shaw, Baros Alexston & Mathias Shaw, Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw, Jorach Ravenholdt & Mathias Shaw, Mathias Shaw & Anduin Wrynn, Mathias Shaw & Vanessa VanCleef, Mathias Shaw & Varian Wrynn, Mathias Shaw/Edwin VanCleef, Nathanos Blightcaller/Mathias Shaw
Series: Jaakko Listened to a Song and Wrote About It (and Now That's Your Problem) [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967953
Comments: 44
Kudos: 72





	Ghost Stories

**Author's Note:**

> do NOT @ me about any grammar issues im not used to writing this much and it's VERY hard to read it all. also HOW do you guys write SO MUCH all the time.

"So what does your grandmother do, anyway?" Baros asked. It was early morning, the sun making its way up into the sky as Baros and Mathias sat on the fence, dividing the green fields from the well-worn road.

"I don't know," Mathias shrugged. It was a lie, of course. "She just has to go out of town sometimes." Like now; she was off on the other side of the mountains, and Mathias was staying with the Alexstons until she returned.

"Where does she go?"

Mathias shrugged again. "The other kingdoms," he said, then to avoid other questions, continued, "I don't really know much about it."

Baros, thankfully, didn't push on. He brushed his blond hair from his face, the wind making it a fruitless effort. The two watched the southern road, the smelll of wheat and corn breezing by, waiting with all the patience a couple of young boys could cultivate. "What's it like in Stormwind?" Baros asked.

Mathias plucked a long piece of grass from where it had been rubbing against his ankle. "It's different," he said. "Lots of buildings all packed together, lots of people too. I like it out here more."

"Really?" Baros asked.

"Yeah, it's too crowded there." Baros hummed as Mathias rolled the grass between his fingers. "There's not a lot of grass there."

"Grass?"

"Yeah. Everything's made of stone."

"Huh," Baros said. "You're weird sometimes."

"Look," Mathias smiled, "I didn't think I'd miss grass, of all things. Could you imagine living somewhere without grass?"

Baros kicked his heels against the fence. "Guess not."

A wagon crested the slight hill, pulled by two large horses, and Baros and Mathias watched with excitement in their veins as it traveled down the road that passed the Alexston Farmstead. "Hello!" Baros waved as the wagon approached, and Mathias gave a slight wave as well.

"Hello, boys!" Mr. VanCleef greeted once he was in earshot, slowing the horses down as he reached them. "Mathias, how's your grandmother doing?"

"She's all right," Mathias replied politely. A mop of black hair poked out from the back of the wagon, and out climbed Edwin, who ran over to join Baros and Mathias.

"You three boys want to help me and Mr. Alexston repair the barn roof?" Mr. VanCleef asked, and the three looked at him, and then to each other, none of them wanting to help, but none of them wanting to be rude. Mr. VanCleef just grinned at their silence. He gestured away from himself, saying, "go on, get out of here."

Mathias and Baros both jumped down from the fence, and the three ran down the dirt road. "Be back in time for lunch!" Mr. Alexston called after them.

There was a small stream at the edge of the Alexston farmstead, one that traveled down to the shoreline where the murlocs stalked. It was small, but in Westfall's humidity, it was a small blessing among the tall grass and crops. Already, as the sun rose higher, the heat was stifling. "How was Stormwind?" Edwin asked Mathias as the three headed towards that stream. He had spent a fair amount of time in Stormwind himself, with his father's work. "Do you like it there?"

Baros cut Mathias off before he could speak. "He said he hates it there."

"I did not," Mathias said.

"He said your father is a bad architect too," Baros continued.

Mathias shoved Baros. "Shut up." Baros laughed in response, and Mathias was grinning despite himself. "It's crowded in Stormwind. I mean, it's nice at first, but I like it out here more."

"He doesn't like it because there's no grass."

"That's not what I said," Mathias started, "I just said that there isn't grass and that's _weird_ when you're used to Westfall.

"There's some grass," Edwin corrected.

Mathias turned to Edwin, eyes narrowed. "No there's not, where?"

Mathias perhaps said that with too much unintended fervor, because Edwin's eyes widened and he pulled back, raising his hands in a mock defensive gesture. "Whoa, calm down! I'm not trying to trick you or anything," he said, grinning wide.

"You're both asses," Mathias muttered, and Baros cackled beside him. "I leave to live with my grandmother, I come back while she's out of town, and I'm immediately harassed."

Baros pulled Mathias into a side hug. "Don't worry, we missed your cranky butt," he said, ruffling Mathias' hair. Mathias pulled a face and tried to duck away, but Baros held him tight and worsened his hair in retaliation.

"Stop it," Mathias scowled.

"Cranky indeed," Edwin laughed, getting in on the action of ruining Mathias’ hair. "Good to see city life hasn't changed you!"

"I hate you both." Baros let Mathias get away with that, and Mathias desperately tried to fix the travesty that was now his hair.

The three reached the end of the Alexston stead, where the stream traveled through. One lone tree, a large oak, offered shade on the bank. "When's the last time we've been here?" Baros asked. "All together?"

"A couple years, right?" Edwin asked, pulling his shirt off.

Mathias nodded, bending down to unlace his boots.

Baros shucked his clothing off with incredible speed, tossing it aside and jumping into the stream. "Last one in gets eaten by murlocs!"

"I'm worried you're getting faster, Baros," Edwin said, pulling off his own boots. "Practicing for when that girl from Moonbrook gets bored?"

Baros responded with indignant splashing, hitting both Edwin and Mathias with his wide arc. Edwin just snickered as he stood again, pulling his pants free. "You know, the point of taking our clothes off is so that they _don't_ get wet," Mathias said.

"They'll dry," Baros assured.

Edwin lingered on the bank as Mathias pulled off his boots, and when Mathias stood once again, he looked the other in the eye with a questioning glance. "I'd hate for you to get eaten by murlocs," Edwin said. "Again."

Mathias gave him an amused look before pushing Edwin square in the chest. Edwin yelped as he fell back into the water, making a loud splashing sound that filled the air. "I can fight off a few murlocs, thank you very much," Mathias said as Edwin got to his feet, arms crossed.

"That's not how that works," Baros argued, raising an arm to point a finger at Mathias as he disrobed. "It says nothing about if you die to murlocs or how many there are, it's simply that you were eaten by them."

Mathias narrowed his eyes at Baros. "How would I die if it wasn't by the murlocs?"

"By being slow, as the last one in."

"Being slow only gets you killed when you're being chased or hunted. You don't just die from being slow. Wouldn't it be by murlocs?"

"It doesn't have to be by the murlocs—"

"Then what's killing me?" Mathias interrupted as he got into the water.

"Edwin," Baros turned towards him, "back me up here."

"I think you're both crazy," Edwin said with a shake of his head. "It's definitely the murlocs that would kill you, but there's no way in hell that you'd be able to fight off murlocs."

"What?" Mathias turned indignant. "What makes you think I wouldn't be able to fight off some murlocs?"

"Well, you don't know how many murlocs are or are not killing you," Baros pointed out.

"This is the dumbest argument ever," Edwin muttered under his breath.

Baros ignored Edwin, continuing, "it could be hundreds. You couldn't fight off a hundred murlocs."

"Sure I could," Mathias said.

"Now you're just being stubborn," Baros said as he crossed his arms.

Mathias raised his own arms and exclaimed, "says the one who started this!"

Edwin splashed both of them. "Shush, both of you."

"I'm just—"

"Shush!" Mathias was interrupted with another splash, assaulting him with cool water. He recoiled, just the slightest bit, and with that, Mathias relented. "Anyway," Edwin started, "what have you been doing in Stormwind? I've been trying to find you when my father takes me there."

"My grandmother has been teaching me the family business," Mathias replied, wiping the water from his face, feeling something tug in him, telling him to be alert.

Baros made a noise. "The business you don't know much about?"

Oops. "I know... a bit about it."

"I think you know more than a bit about it," Baros said.

Mathias pushed the heels of his palms to his eyes. He felt too exposed now. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone."

"C'mon, we're your friends," Baros said.

And that was why Mathias didn't want to tell them. "If I told you, my grandmother would," _kill you,_ Mathias cut himself off before he said that. _Well, have me kill you,_ he amended to himself. This wasn't helping. "She would not be happy."

Mathias' skin was crawling, as if there were leeches latching onto every inch of his person. He looked down to visually confirm that there weren't, then ran his hands across his arms and legs just to double check. "Family secret?"

"Something like that," Mathias answered. It was almost like there were too many eyes on him, but that wouldn't make sense, there was only Baros and Edwin with him.

"Are you okay?" Edwin asked, bringing Mathias back to the creek. He realized how tense he was now, his arms crossed and hands tightly gripping his arms.

"Do you feel someone watching us?" Mathias asked. He watched Baros and Edwin exchange worried glances, and he clenched his jaw. "I'm not crazy," he said quickly, "I swear, it feels like there's something watching us."

They didn't say anything, Mathias felt his stomach turn, and he moved to get out of the creek. "Matt, hey, I didn't mean anything by it," Baros started as Mathias climbed out of the creek and threw on his clothing. "If you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to."

"It's not about that," Mathias said. "There's someone watching us."

"Mathias," Edwin pleaded, "you're freaking out. Take a deep breath."

Mathias' eyes were fixed on the field across the creek, watching, waiting for something. He _needed_ something. Something so his friends didn't think he was crazy. His throat felt tight, and he clenched his fists as he searched.

The tall grass of the field parted strangely from within it; Mathias could just make out the tops of the grass bend away from something. "In the tall grass," he said. "There's something there."

"Mathias," Edwin tried again as Baros looked to the field.

"I swear, please just trust me on this," Mathias said, looking down to Edwin. "Get out of the water."

Edwin looked hurt by that, but before he could say something, Baros was cursing under his breath. He crossed to Edwin, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him towards Mathias. "It's a gnoll," he said, voice quiet and panicked.

"What?" Edwin asked, disbelieving at first, looking to Baros and then to the grass.

"He's right, there's a Light-dang gnoll over there." Baros pulled Edwin some more, and Edwin eventually followed him, climbing onto the bank and fetching their clothes.

Mathias' thoughts were racing as he watched the opposite bank. Sure enough, there was a gnoll, staying semi-sheltered in the grass, watching them. Gnolls were pack creatures, but often enough, they sent out singular scouts to search for easy targets. Some in the guild said that the guard working to push the gnolls out of Elwynn forest, and they must have been spreading west in an attempt to avoid that. If this was one gnoll in search of food for his pack, and if he was alone, then this situation could be handled.

"Give me your knives," Mathias said.

"What?" Edwin asked.

"I know you both have hunting knives. Give them to me." His grandmother refused to let him bring his daggers along with him to Westfall, claiming that it was to reduce suspicion.

"What, do you think that you're going to fight a gnoll?" Edwin asked.

Baros, unquestioningly, handed Mathias his hunting knife, handle to Mathias. "If you kill it, I'm never doubting you on the murloc thing again."

Mathias took it, looking to Edwin. Edwin shook his head. "You two are crazy. We could just run."

"It's a gnoll," Mathias said, "you can't outrun a gnoll."

Edwin threw his hands up before fetching his shirt from the ground. "You're going to get yourself killed," he said, relenting and handing Mathias his knife.

"Stay behind me," Mathias ordered as he took the knife. Edwin's knife was newer, but Baros' had a higher quality to it. He held Edwin's knife in his left and Baros' in his right, heart beating fast as he watched the other side of the bank. He took a careful step back, back towards the Alexston stead. If they were to run, even if they got away, it would just guarantee a pack of gnolls at the doorstep tonight or the next night. 

It had to die. And Mathias had to kill it. 

Edwin and Baros moved back, away from Mathias, and it drew the gnoll out of the tall grass. Mathias kept his eyes trained on it, his breathing steady. Just like practice.

The gnoll let out a weird barking sound before charging across the creek towards Mathias, Mathias tightened his grip on the blades and held his ground. It wielded an axe, throwing it back before swinging it in a wide arc as it reached the bank. Mathias moved back, out of its range, thanks to its early warning.

It climbed up onto land, this time swinging its axe down in a cleaving motion towards Mathias. He moved to the right and closer to the gnoll, jamming a knife into its stomach. It yowled, axe swinging at Mathias' head as he quickly ducked away, narrowly missing its blade. When Mathias turned and stood, he saw the gnoll lunging for him, and he quickly put his left arm up, catching the axe where the metal met the wooden handle. It growled, pushing hard against Mathias' weak grip, and he grimaced as he sliced across the gnoll's face.

The gnoll was bleeding now, its fur stained scarlet and occasional drops falling onto the grass. Mathias did that. But he had to. He was protecting people.

Mathias snapped back to reality as the gnoll swung again. His reaction was too slow, and his left shoulder was clipped as he tried to move out of the way. Before the gnoll could swing again, Mathias was closing the gap and driving Baros' knife into its chest.

The sound it made was unholy, one that would haunt Mathias for the next few months. It choked on blood and air, and Mathias pulled the knife out and took a step back, watching the gnoll twitch and fall to the ground.

Mathias couldn't tear his eyes away from it. His hands shook. He felt like he was going to throw up. 

A hand on his right shoulder startled Mathias, and he pulled back harshly with a gasp, a white knuckled grip on the knives as he drew them close again. Baros pulled his hand away, fear flaring up briefly in his eyes. "Sorry," Mathias said quickly, forcing himself to relax, "you startled me."

"C'mon, you're hurt." Baros said. Mathias looked back at the gnoll. His stomach was in knots. "My mother can help."

Mathias let Baros pull him from the creek bank, from the gnoll he just killed. When he tore his gaze from the gnoll, his eyes found Edwin's, who was watching him with a horrified expression. Mathias quickly looked away, shame and guilt burning from deep within, as he was led back to the stead.

Mrs. Alexston looked positively terrified when the three of them came into the house. "What happened?" She gasped.

"We were at the creek and a gnoll came," Baros explained, "and Mathias killed it and saved us."

Mrs. Alexston's eyes were locked on Mathias. Mathias, shaking from shock, stared right back at her. "Go help your fathers."

"What?" Baros asked. "Ma—"

"This isn't a discussion, Baros," Mrs. Alexston interrupted as she looked over ot him, her voice firm in the way that only a mother’s can; no nonsense, but not unkind. "Go."

Baros and Edwin, with a certain amount of reluctance, left Mathias' side. They turn back out of the house, leaving Mathias alone with Mrs. Alexston. He looked down. He was dripping blood on the wooden floors. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

She was silent, and Mathias looked up to see her watching Mathias, incredible sadness written across her face. "Come here," she said, walking over to the kitchen table and pulling out one of the chairs. Mathias crossed the room after her, taking the seat. She went over to the cabinets and drawers, looking for something within them. Mathias looked to his lap. His hands shook almost violently. He couldn't steady them.

"What happened?" Mrs. Alexston asked as she searched.

"We were..." Mathias' voice shook. He tried to steady it. "We were playing in the creek. And there," he took a shaky breath. "was a gnoll across the creek." Mrs. Alexston crossed back to Mathias, setting things on the table beside Mathias. He didn't look up, gaze fixed on his bloody, shaking hands. "If we ran, it would chase us, and it would..." Another shaky breath, almost a gasp. "I had to kill it. And I did."

"You must have been incredibly brave to do that," Mrs. Alexston said, voice soft. "To protect your friends." Mathias gasped for air like a drowning man at that. "You're all right, you're okay," she cooed, and Mathias fought back tears.

The front door opened. "What happened? The boys are pretty freaked out— oh Light," Mr. Alexston interrupted himself with a sharp breath.

"Could you get your rifle and check the stream?" Mrs. Alexston said. "Mathias says he got into a fight with a gnoll down there."

"Are you okay?" Mr. Alexston asked.

Mathias didn't look up, but he nodded.

"I'll go do that now," Mr. Alexston said to his wife. There was movement from him, out of Mathias' view, before he left the house, closing the door behind him.

"Where are you hurt?" Mrs. Alexston asked.

"M' shoulder."

"Anywhere else?"

Mathias shook his head.

"We have to get your shirt off so I can take care of it," she said. When Mathias didn't immediately move, she moved slowly, taking the hem of Mathias' shirt in hand and carefully pulling it up. Mathias complied with the movement, his only hesitation being when pain shot through his left shoulder. He hissed in pain, and Mrs. Alexston murmured soothing things as she peeled his sleeve from the wound. "You're doing good, you're okay," she said, rubbing Mathias' knee as he teared up from the pain. He let out a hitching sob as Mrs. Alexston did something at the table.

Mrs. Alexston pressed a rag to Mathias' wound, making him take a sharp breath. She never faltered in her soft words as she cleaned and dressed the wound. "There you go, we're all done," she said.

"Thank you," Mathias said. His hands still shook, but it had lessened while Mrs. Alexston worked. He flexed his fingers.

Mrs. Alexston knelt down in front of Mathias, and Mathias glanced up at her. "Mathias, is your grandmother treating you okay?"

Mathias paused. "What?"

"I was a close friend of your mother's, and I want to make sure she isn't forcing you to do anything you don't want to do." Mathias made an effort to not look at Mrs Alexston, tucking his chin to his chest and staring intently at his hands. He felt a lump in his throat at the mention of his mother. "You can trust me, I just want to make sure you're okay."

Mathias shook his head.

"No?" Mrs. Alexston asked.

"I can't," Mathias whispered.

"Why not?"

Mathias took a shaky breath. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"Who would hurt me?" She asked.

Mathias didn't respond. They both knew the answer.

* * *

“Have you heard the stories?” Baros asked.

It had been some time since the gnoll incident, with Mathias’ wounds having been healed since then. Now, Baros and Mathias sat beside the brook—Mrs. Alexston forbade them from going anywhere near there again, but they weren’t the best at following directions—large sticks in hand as they sharpened the ends of them.

“Heard what?” Mathias asked in turn.

“There’s monsters in the swamp down south,” Baros said. “Called orcs, I think. Huge and green.”

“No,” Mathias said.

“The adults were talking about it when I went to Moonbrook with my dad last week.” Baros examined the business end of his stick. “They tried not to talk about it in front of me. They seemed kinda worried,” Baros confided. “I’ve never seen them look scared.”

Mathias didn’t know what to make of that. He watched the curl of the wood form from the hunting knife they borrowed without asking for him to use. Baros liked to share things that he was thinking about, but Mathias rarely knew how to respond to such things. “Are you scared?”

Baros shrugged. “Kinda. They think that the orcs could come here. Go to Stormwind.”

Mathias stopped. “Why are we making spears again?”

“Because they’re cool, duh,” Baros explained.

“Yeah, but what are we going to do with them?”

Baros blinked. Neither of them seemed to have gotten that far. “Poke things?”

Mathias looked at his spear, and then at Baros. Slowly and gently, he maneuvered his spear and prodded Baros with it. Baros snorted in response, taking his spear and poking Mathias with it too. The point was, well, pointy, but it wasn’t sharp enough to break the skin. After a few rounds of poking each other and trying to squirm out of the way of the sticks, Baros relented and stood. “C’mon, let’s look around,” he said.

The gnoll was long gone, If Mr. Alexston dragged it away, or something else happened to it, Mathias didn’t know. As he stood with Baros, he glanced to where the grass was once stained red with blood. That too was gone.

Baros tugged on Mathias’ shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. “C’mon,” he said, as if he knew what was on the younger’s mind.

The two walked downstream, spears in tow. Mathias used it as a walking stick, while Baros used his to poke at the bubbles in the brook as they passed. After a while, Baros asked, “How do you know how to kill a gnoll?”

Mrs. Alexston, like venturing to the stream, forbade any talk of the gnoll after that first night. It was to be as if it never even happened, save for the wound Mathias had gotten and the scar that came from it. No one brought it up again; not until now.

“I don’t know.” He knew. _Family business._

Baros didn’t like that answer. “You don’t… find that out randomly. And you were pretty confident in yourself.” Mathias stopped walking, and so did Baros. He turned to Mathias. “They talk about you too, y’know. The adults.”

Mathias looked down, his thumb tracing lines around the grooves of the stick. “I’m…” he paused. He felt sick. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

(Everyone had already known, or at least had their suspicions. Perhaps not Baros, but people talked.)

“C’mon, Matt, you know me,” Baros said.

“I can’t,” Mathias insisted. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt.”

Mathias couldn’t look at Baros. His gaze was fixed firmly on the ground. “I don’t want you hurt.”

Baros dropped his spear and gave Mathias a hug that could crush a weasel. Mathias, while not a weasel, struggled to breathe from it. After a few unrelenting moments, he piped up in a strangled breath, “you’re crushing me.”

Baros lessened his grip, but didn’t let go of Mathias. “Sorry,” he muttered into Mathias’ shoulder.

(Shaw never really knew how Baros seemed to understand the gravity of it while they were kids. Sure, Baros was a couple years older than he was, but they were still just kids.)

One day, his grandmother would come to the Alexston Stead, Mathias would have to leave without a word. In Baros’ arms, he knew that one day Baros just wouldn’t know what happened to him. Her orders. And with her, Mathias would continue his training.

But today, he and Baros were by the streams, with spears made from fallen branches, just two kids in Westfall. “Be safe with… with that,” Baros said.

“I will.”

* * *

Mathias ran, ran as fast as he could, panting hard as he ducked underneath a fallen wooden post. The large orc trampled behind him, trying its best to catch him. They crossed the bridge over the canals.

Everything was methodical, precise. Planned, honed, nearly perfected. Yes, there was always risk, there always will be with this, but it had to be done, and Mathias would always be willing to do it. 

He took down the same path as always, a practiced route. A hard right into a destroyed district, and a hard left immediately after; he could hear the orc struggle to do the same behind him. It let out a roar after Mathias, and the barest sense of fear embedded itself into him. He used it as incentive to push on harder.

Orcs were hard to kill, physically imposing, capable of crushing someone Mathias’ size like a grape. You couldn’t engage them like head-on, that would be was suicide. But with guile...

Mathias stopped, finding himself at a dead-end alleyway. He turned, breathing hard, and watched the orc approach him. He crouched down and gripped his knife tightly, looking up at the ugly, snarling face before him. It growled something out in its mother tongue, the words low and guttural and indecipherable to Mathias’ ears.

It was the last noise it made.

A gunshot rang out, and Mathias watched something tear through the large orc and smash into the stonework above him, moving so fast that it was gone with a blink of the eye. The orc clasped at its throat, panic flashing in its eyes, before collapsing before Mathias.

He didn’t care for playing bait, but it got the job done.

Mathias rose to his feet, feeling how hard his heart still raced in his chest. He glanced up, to the wall enclosing the district, directly across from him. It was getting late, or perhaps early. Dawn was not long away. He stepped over the orc and headed for the wall.

Amber had already climbed down to the ground by the time Mathias had made his way over, her father’s rifle slung over her shoulder. “Another three orcs dead,” she remarked. “Maybe you’re right, maybe one day Stormwind will be free of orcs.”

Mathias nodded. They spent many nights together, baiting orcs to their death. “You sure you have to head back home?”

“Yeah,” she said, and they both start heading for not the gates of the city, but a gap in the crumbling wall they used as an escape instead. “My father would be mad if he knew that I went out to do this.”

“You could stay in Stormwind, you know,” Mathias brought up. “You got great skill, I know my grandmother would love you here long-term.”

She sighed and pushed the stray hairs not tamed by her hair tie back behind her ear. “I can’t just leave my family.”

Mathias nodded. He understood, and also he didn’t. They understood each other on many things, such as the need to defend their home and their people, no matter the risk, but Mathias wasn’t in a position to understand what Amber had waiting for her back home in Westfall, not on a meaningful level, at least. He understood it enough to the point where he knew she wouldn’t budge on it, under any amount of convincing.

He always walked her to that gap in the wall after their shared nights together. It was always safer to travel alone, quick and silent along the ruins, but he couldn’t deny that there was a certain safety to having someone with you, watching your back just as you watch their’s. Besides, orcs still claimed the surface of the city, and while most of them had left months ago, there were still many skulking around.

“How do you kill orcs without me?” Amber asked as they neared that hole in the wall.

“I look for sleeping ones,” Mathias replied simply. “If I find one, I cut its throat.” It was hard, at first, but the anger of what the orcs had done carried him far, much farther than any fear or concern could stifle. It had to be done and that was just how things were.

Amber nodded at that, placing a hand on the collapsing stonework of the wall. “Stay safe out there,” she said, looking to Mathias.

“You too, Amber.”

Mathias watched her duck through the hole and out to the Elwynn forest, watching her slip into the night’s embrace.

* * *

From where he was perched on a roof, sat in the shadow of another building, Mathias watched people move around the Trade District. Stormwind was slowly, surely, getting back to normal. The war had devastated, but it was human nature to pick up the pieces and rebuild.

Mathias had found that he liked observing people, watching them go about their day. Every person led a life Mathias would never experience; the closest he could get would be observing it. And so he did, at least, fractions of it. A pregnant woman made her way through the busy streets, the crowd parting to give her enough space to pass unjostled. Under an arm, she carried a woven basket, filled with bread and vegetables. Her and her family would eat well tonight. She turned down the road to the Old Town, disappearing behind a building and out of Mathias' sight.

He had been crouched for too long, and now he was starting to feel it. He rolled his neck around and shifted his position, winching at the soreness of his legs. He must have lost track of time. Grasping the shingles, he folded his legs out from under him, letting out a quiet sigh of relief with the movement. Below, a boy caught his eye, perhaps a couple years younger than Mathias. He carried a crate, large and unwieldy in his arms as he tried to navigate the Trade District. Mathias watched him do his best to weave with the crowd, which was less willing to give him the same space they granted the woman.

He made his way over to where a few Stonemasons were gathered. The Stonemasons had scrambled across the city, in every nook and cranny as they worked to rebuild Stormwind. It was impossible to traverse across a district without bumping into a handful of them. Mathias had nearly stopped noticing them with how prevalent they were. The boy set down the crate—well, he more or less dropped the crate, in front of a young man who's back was to Mathias. The boy exchanged words with the man, who pushed back his blond hair. Mathias watched, shifting closer towards them while still staying in the shadows of the building.

The blond man turned, pointing down the road the building Mathias was propped on rested beside, and Mathias' eyes widened. He scrambled to the edge of the roof, carefully grabbing the edge and backing down the building. A foot in a gap between the paneling, a hand grasping the stone that jutted out just a bit too far, and down he went. He jumped down the last six feet or so, landing on his feet with a grunt he stifled. He should have rolled with his landing, but the thought was the last thing on his mind as he ran out of the alleyway.

Mathias weaved his way through the crowd, carefully aware of his slight frame and how he could navigate through. He leaned away from a man carrying a chicken under either arm and slipped between two gossiping housewives that were far too apart for the common courtesy of walking in a busy area. They said something after Mathias, but he didn't care to hear what it was. Nothing of usefulness, that was for sure.

The crowd pulled away from the Stonemasons, giving them as wide as a berth they could so they could work. It gives a chance for Mathias to step out into the open and call out, "Baros!"

The blond man turned, gaze falling on Mathias before his eyes lit up. He all but ran towards Mathias, and Mathias braced himself before he was tackled into a bear hug. "I can't believe it," Baros said into Mathias' shoulder. "Thought I'd never see you again."

"I've been here the whole time," Mathias said, hugging back. Baros, then, heaved Mathias up and off his feet, giving him a gentle swing with the hug. It had been some time since they saw each other, and while Baros had always held a slight height advantage over Mathias, Baros was now a good half head taller than he was. 

"You've been right under our noses this entire time!" Baros said with a laugh before putting Mathias down. "Why didn't you come find us!"

"I didn't think you'd be in Stormwind," Mathias said. "Especially not with the Stonemasons."

Baros parted with Mathias, the mood dipping into something sober. "You don't know," he said quietly, a sudden realization.

It unsettled Mathias, seeing Baros take on such a mood. "Don't know what?"

Baros hesitated, then forcibly tried to change subjects. "I'll tell you later. C'mon," he tugged Mathias towards the building that the Stonemasons were currently working on. "Edwin!"

A couple Stonemasons, entangled in the frame as they worked, looked over to Baros. Baros was met with no response, which made the man quickly grow impatient. "Edwin, get out here! It's important!"

After a few more moments of nothing, out came a man that was the spitting image of his father, covered in dust and sweat, arms filled with papers and his red bandana around his neck. His eyes found Baros, and then fell to Mathias. He crossed over to them, careful to not drop any papers in his arms, before shoving the papers into Baros' arms. Baros took the papers with a mutter under his breath. Then, in an act Mathias wasn't really expecting, Edwin had his arms around him in a tight hug.

Baros was a physical guy in showing affection, he always had been. It was normal for Baros to get close to hug or to bump shoulders. Edwin rarely did the same; a hug from him was rarer than a visit from the Kirin Tor. Mathias wrapped his arms around Edwin, relishing this rarity.

"Light, we both feared the worse," Edwin said into Mathias' shoulder. He was also a good bit taller than Mathias now. "What happened? Why did you just disappear?"

Mathias glanced towards Baros, who caught his gaze. Mathias pulled away from Edwin. "Can we meet somewhere private, tonight?" Mathias asked, looking to both of them. "I..." he stopped, and looked around. "Please? I'll explain things there. You deserve an explanation."

Edwin and Baros shared a look.

* * *

Parts of Stormwind’s wall were destroyed by the orcs, specifically, the wall that overlooked the ocean. Why exactly, Mathias never puzzled it out, but it was a quiet, left alone place by the rest of Stormwind's citizens until the Stonemasons took care of it. Mathias looked out, to the ocean, feeling the brine-scented breeze through his hair.

"Well?" Edwin asked. He and Baros stood behind Mathias, and Mathias had trouble in steeling his nerves to face them.

"It wasn't my choice," Mathias said. "To leave without saying a word. I"m sorry, I didn't want to."

"Why did you?" Edwin asked.

Mathias struggled to find the words. "My grandmother," he said, "she wanted me to." It was silent behind Mathias, and he found the courage to say more, or perhaps he was just more terrified by the silence than what he could say. "My grandmother is an assassin, my mother," Mathias struggled to keep his voice steady, "was an assassin; that's the family business. She's training me to take her place."

It was still silent. Mathias didn't like that. He didn't know if that was a good sign or not, and it filled him with dread. He felt nauseous.

"You said you were here the whole time," Baros said, voice quiet.

Mathias nodded, not looking back to them. "I've been in Stormwind, training," he hesitated. "Killing orcs."

"By yourself?" Edwin asked.

"There's others." Mathias grabbed at the rubble he stood beside, needing to run his hands along something. The stone felt harsh against his fingertips. "Sometimes I’d have help. Most of the time I didn’t.” He didn’t dare mention Amber by name; secrecy protects.

Then, of all things, Edwin had the audacity to ask, "why didn't you tell us before?"

Mathias stopped. "What?" He replied, turning to the two. Baros was looking to Edwin, but Mathias was entirely focused on Edwin, on how _hurt_ he seemed. "What was I to say?"

"The truth?" Edwin said.

"That I could kill that gnoll because I'm being trained to be an assassin?" Mathias asked, feeling the anger boil up within him, and something else, a raw emotion he couldn't identify. "That I had to leave Westfall to train to do what my mother couldn't? What my mother _died_ doing?" His voice broke with emotion. "And that it was taking the lives of others?"

"We could have helped," Edwin said, "could have done something—"

"What could we have done?" Baros interrupted, surprising the both of them. His voice was quiet enough to make Mathias realize they both had started yelling. "We were kids, and you know how she is."

Edwin looked to Baros. "Our parents could have, then—"

"What?" Baros asked again. "Think about the situation for a moment instead of just reacting. What realistically could have been done other than put more people at risk?"

"Risk of what?"

Baros didn't reply. They all knew the answer. Mathias wondered, in that moment and in many future moments, if his grandmother knew how much power she held over people who barely knew her. Most likely. She would enjoy that knowledge too much to not seek it out. Baros turned back towards Mathias, crossed over to him, and brought him into a tight embrace.

Mathias squeezed his eyes shut, struggling not to break down any further than he already had. Edwin, with an aggravated huff, left the two beside Stormwind's wall, stomping off.

They stood there, Mathias in Baros' arms, for a while. When Baros finally let go of Mathias, he murmured, "he'll come around, he just needs to cool down."

Mathias felt as if something was lodged in his throat, and he struggled to say something, both because of that and because he couldn't find the words needed to form a sentence.

"He lost his father in an orc raid a couple years back," Baros said, voice quiet. "He's hurting from it still."

“I’m sorry,” Mathias managed to get out.

Baros hitched with slight laughter. “Over what?”

“Not telling you earlier.”

“What were you to say?”

Mathias didn’t have an answer for that, so he switched topics. "What happened in Westfall?" he asked, though he dreaded the answer.

Baros sighed, heavy with a mourning in process. "When the orcs came, they... did something to the land. It gets harder to grow crops every year."

"What?" Mathias asked. "How?"

"I don't know." Baros ran a hand through his hair. "My parents are real worried about it, though. That's why I'm here, my father wanted me to go because, at least for the time being, Stormwind needs Stonemasons. I'm sure it'll get better with time." Baros rubbed his face. "But look at me, worried about farmland while you've been here risking your life."

Mathias gave a slight shake of his head. "I mostly just gathered supplies where they could be found."

"In a city filled with orcs."

Mathias didn't respond. Baros spoke as if what he did was noble, and there was nothing noble about it. There was no real glory in crouching in the dark and waiting for an orc to separate from their group or wander too far from where they camped in the city. It was simply what had to be done.

"I suppose that settles it, then," Baros said, "you _could_ fight off a bunch of murlocs."

It was a weak attempt to lighten the mood, but one Mathias appreciated nonetheless. "I can't believe you remember that stupid argument."

"How could I forget?" Baros asked. "Immediately after it, you saved my life. I don't think I'll ever be that wrong in my life again."

Mathias let out a tired laugh. "I have faith in you.”

Baros scoffed. “Thanks.”

* * *

Mathias knew Edwin was searching for him. Partly because it was Mathias' job to know such things going around the city, and partly because Edwin seemed to do everything he could to be obvious about it, which would cause problems for Mathias if anyone else in the guild caught wind of it. So he was perched on a roof in the only part of Stormwind that survived the orc attack, watching the streets for any sign of the man.

There, coming down the road, was Edwin VanCleef, a searching look across his face as he moved quickly. Mathias was quicker, however, climbing down the roof into the alleyway before the man crossed the building. He pressed himself against the building, waiting with a stillness he learned young, until Edwin came past. Mathias grabbed him by the shoulder, yanking him into the alleyway and pushing him against the building. "What do you think you're doing?" Mathias hissed.

Edwin looked down at Mathias, matter of fact. "Looking for you."

"Yeah, loudly," he hissed.

"How else was I supposed to find you?" Edwin asked. "I mean, it worked, didn't it?"

"I'm supposed to be focusing on my job. I can get in a lot of trouble if the wrong person catches wind that you're looking for me from the implications alone."

Edwin's jaw tightened, and he took a moment to say something. "I wanted to apologize. About last night." Mathias pulled back from him, and he relaxed off the wall. "I was... a bit of an ass."

"Yeah, you were." Mathias crossed his arms.

"I feel like my reasons to be upset were justified," Edwin continued, defensive in a way that was trying to salvage his pride, "but it... wasn't towards you specifically." Mathias didn't want to ask for clarification, simply because he didn't want to hear the likely answer, but in that, he didn't say anything in response. In the awkward silence, Edwin asked, "are we okay?"

Mathias' shoulders dropped as he uncrossed his arms. "We're okay."

"Good," Edwin said. "I do, actually, have something I wanted to ask you."

Mathias raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"

* * *

Mathias was not fond of traveling, and he was especially not fond of having to travel quickly. Riding a gryphon to the other side of the mountains was not a thing Mathias enjoyed doing in the slightest. And yet, here he was, sneaking into a large manor nestled in the mountains, detesting every moment he was away.

 _Some of the best rogues in the kingdoms are on the manor's grounds,_ his grandmother had said before his departure, _don't get caught, I won't appreciate having to deal with that._ He hoped that was wholly inaccurate, as he managed to get into the manor without much of an issue. Twelve posted guards, barely enough shadow to hide in, and yet he still managed to get through the yard without an eye batted in his direction. Any easier and he’d think they had just let him in.

Mathias stopped, pressed against the wall of a quiet and empty hall with that thought in mind. Would they do that? They wouldn't, right? He was sneaking into a noble's home, for all they knew he could be an assassin, right?

Light, what the hell had he gotten himself into?

Even if Mathias had the option, it would be far too late to back out, so he steeled himself and kept moving through the hall. He neared the end of it, emptying out into yet another hall, and when Mathias went to poke his head around to check if the hallway was clear, there was a hand on his wrist, grabbing tight and yanking him. Mathias gasped as he was pulled around the corner and slammed against the wall, one hand trapped and a blade at his neck.

Mathias was eye to eye with a much older man, shoulder-length hair starting to gray, and in finer clothes that most likely cost more than what the Alexstons made in a year. His hands twitched, wanting to go for the daggers at his waist, but still entirely too aware at the metal a hair's length away from his throat. "What do you think you're doing here?" He asked, not like he was angry at Mathias breaking in, but more as if he was a mild inconvenience to this man's day.

"I'm looking for the lord of the house," Mathias said, not letting his nerves show.

"You've found him," he said, pressing the blade a little closer, enough for Mathias to feel the cool metal against his skin. "So I ask again, what do you think you're doing here?"

"Pathonia sends her regards."

The simple statement was enough for the man's tepid annoyance to harden into something analytical. The knife was pulled from Mathias throat as the man looked him over, and Mathias took the chance to slowly pull the letter from his dark leathers. "I suppose I can see the resemblance, now that you mention it," he said, taking a step back. "What are you, her nephew?"

"Grandson," Mathias corrected as he handed him the letter.

The man's expression dipped into something more negative, nearly forming into disgust, as if Mathias' answer was a distasteful one. Mathias didn't know why what he said prompted such a reaction (Shaw would realize why, in later reflections of the conversation, long after his grandmother was gone). Nonetheless, he took the letter, breaking the simple seal and reading its contents.

"What does your grandmother have planned for you that requires you to learn how to interact with nobility properly?" He asked, and when Mathias didn't answer, continued, "I hardly care enough to dip my toes into Stormwind politics with Pathonia running things." Regardless of that, Mathias kept his mouth shut. Realizing that he wasn't going to get anything from Mathias, he folded up the letter and relented. "Quite the conversationalist you are," he said, holding a hand out to Mathias. “Lord Jorach Ravenholdt.”

Mathias took it with a firm grip. "Mathias Shaw."

"Are you a quick study, Mathias?"

"I wouldn't be where I was if I wasn't."

"Good. We start immediately."

* * *

The sun was barely above the horizon, offering a dim, hazy light over the field. A forgotten part of the city, not yet touched by the Stonemasons in their work to rebuild. There was dew on the grass as the sound of unsharpened blades clashing together rang through the air. Mathias' was sweating, but with the air still cool from the night before, he felt chilled.

Edwin lunged for Mathias, sword in hand. Mathias, light on his feet, pulled back and put his sword up to block Edwin's. Mathias wasn't the greatest with swords— yes, his grandmother ensured he was trained with them, but his practice with it was minor at best, mostly just fundamentals, while his dagger work was much better. With that fact, and the fact that Edwin was a quick learner, he was giving Mathias a run for his gold just after a few sessions.

Mathias' foot slipped in the slick grass, forcing him to take a somewhat awkward position as he blocked Edwin's strike. Edwin was bold and aggressive in how he fought, relying on brute force to carry him through a fight. He kept the heat up with aggressive strikes that Mathias was forced to focus on blocking, footing uneasy as he tried to take a step back. Edwin immediately pressed more into Mathias' space with another slash, and Mathias lurched back right as his ankle rolled beneath him, and with wide eyes, his hand found Edwin's wrist in an attempt to catch himself. Edwin, however, wasn't expecting that, and he was pulled down after Mathias.

They collapse onto the grass in a heap, Mathias on his back and Edwin on Mathias, sweaty and breathless. "Sorry," Mathias said, eyes closed.

Edwin propped himself up onto his elbows, but didn't entirely pull off of Mathias. "S'okay," he said. "I'm just glad I didn't crush you."

Mathias scoffed, opening his eyes. "I'm not delicate," he stated before realizing how close he and Edwin were. Edwin was essentially pinning him down, not yet moving off of him, their faces only a couple inches apart. Their breaths mingled as they panted, and Mathias' heart beat hard in his chest. Mathias gave a slight, nervous chuckle, unable to escape the situation or regain his personal space. He looked at Edwin, and Edwin looked back at him, their eyes locked in this.

Mathias struggled to find his voice as he was painfully aware of everything, of how Edwin's body was pressed against him, of how Edwin's heart thumping just as hard as Mathias' was, of how trapped he was between the ground and Edwin, of how all his nerves were alight with uncertainty, with how dry his lips were now. One thing at a time, he supposed as his thoughts raced, and he licked his lips.

But if his thoughts were racing at that point, then Edwin's lips crashing against his had his thoughts made like a horse that tripped, crashed, and broke all of its legs in the tumble. His brain came to a crashing halt, unable to properly process anything that was going on other than the fact that he was being _kissed_ by _Edwin VanCleef,_ and that he _liked it._

Without really thinking about it, Mathias reciprocated, putting a hand on Edwin's shoulder and another against Edwin's nape. _Light,_ this was nice. He wanted to do this forever, to feel Edwin's heat against him, to feel his mouth against his as the sun warmed their faces, to—

Mathias' brain jumpstarted, and he was pushing Edwin off him in an instant. Edwin made a surprised noise as Mathias shoved him wholly off so Mathias could sit up. "Wh—"

"I'm gonna be late for a meeting," Mathias explained. "A _very important_ meeting."

Mathias didn't miss the hope in Edwin's voice as he spoke. "So, you still liked it?"

He shouldn't have been doing this, _they_ shouldn't have been doing this. Why did they do that? Why did he _like_ it? "Yes," Mathias answered, for it was the truth, but it did little to quell his panic. He didn't have the time for this. "I'm sorry, I have to go," he said as he stood and hurried off, leaving Edwin alone in the field.

* * *

One of the most important things Mathias was trained on, in his opinion, was how to manage his nerves for his job. Even with the... _surprise_ of this morning, he could brute force himself into being calm and collected. Besides, one of the few things his grandmother always remarked fondly on was the fact that Mathias did well under pressure.

Mathias followed a Stormwind guard through the castle, being led to Light knows where. His grandmother had been in here before, back when King Llane still ruled, but most of the castle had been destroyed and rebuilt since then. Officially, this was Mathias' first time in the castle, but spies had their uses everywhere in Stormwind, and the guild would be remiss to not have informants inside the keep.

 _I want you to be our representative in this meeting,_ his grandmother had said, _not just because you're my grandson, mind you. I think he will respond best to someone close to his age and I trust you over anyone else your age._

 _What does he want?_ Mathias had asked.

 _Your guess is as good as mine,_ she shrugged. _Be on your best behavior._

The guard opened a door that was far too large to be practical, and Mathias entered the room. The most notable thing about the room was the large table in the middle, the focal point, a lovingly crafted piece that had the Eastern Kingdoms and Northrend carved into the top with painstaking detail. One didn't need to know who made it to know that they spent a lot of time honing their craft. An admirable thing, to Mathias. 

The other notable thing in the room was the King of Stormwind. Which, in hindsight, was vastly more important than the table. Mathias needed to work on his priorities. With the voice that Mathias had been practicing for the past couple weeks, he bowed with respect and said, "Your majesty, I am Mathias Shaw of the Stormwind Assassins Guild."

"I am Varian," the king said, "it is a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine," Mathias returned as he approached the table. Varian was a large man physically, both tall in stature and wide with physical prowess, proving his bloodline to be one of warrior kings. "What can the guild do for you?"

"I must admit, when I asked for a representative from the guild to speak to, I was expecting someone... different," Varian cautiously said.

Mathias raised his chin, just a tad. "I was handpicked by our guildmaster for this meeting, and I have my own list of accolades within the guild. I wouldn't be here speaking to you if I wasn't the best suited for the job, your majesty."

"I'm sure," he said. "You just seem fairly... young to be doing what you're doing."

Before Mathias could stop himself, he said, "with all due respect, your majesty, I'm sure there are some in the house of nobles that say the same about you."

If his grandmother was here, he was sure Mathias would have been dragged out of the room by his ear so she could discipline him out of sight of the King of Stormwind.

Varian blinked, no doubt off-put by Mathias' bluntness, before laughing. "I suppose they would, wouldn't they?"

Thank the Light.

"I have heard from some that the Assassins Guild still operated after the first war," King Varian continued. "Is that true?"

Mathias nodded. "All our guild members were called into action to clear out any remaining orcs and keep the trapped citizens safe."

Varian looked down at the table, examining the Eastern Kingdoms. Mathias glanced down as well. The kingdoms were landmarked. Alterac was still marked, interestingly enough. "The guild defended the city when we weren't able," he said, "and I thank you for that."

"You were hardly in a position to try and fix the problem," Mathias pointed out.

”Your guild did Stormwind a great service, and I thought that Stormwind would greatly benefit from your continued service."

Mathias raised an eyebrow. "Well, the guild has no intention of stopping its services."

"I meant more that..." the king trailed off as he searched for the right words. "I want to make the Assassins Guild a part of the Stormwind military."

* * *

Mathias knocked on the door he had been working up the nerve to approach for the past ten minutes, having been pacing around the block until then. He really shouldn't be here, but if he let this stew any longer, Mathias might explode.

The door opened, and Edwin was standing there, hair disheveled and bare-chested and Light this was a bad idea. He fixed his gaze on Edwin's dark green eyes and resolved himself to never look away for the entirety of this. "Oh, hey, I didn't think I would see you."

"Sorry, I've been busy today," Mathias said, fidgeting with his hands. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure," Edwin said, propping the door open more and moving so Mathias could enter. Mathias moved past him, resolutely not looking at him. He wrung his hands together as Edwin closed the door behind him, nerves beginning to fail. It was too late to leave now. "Are you all right?"

"What was that?" Mathias asked, not knowing how else to put it. "Earlier today."

Edwin moved around behind Mathias, and Mathias followed his movements out of habit. "Ah, well, you looked good, all sweaty and disheveled." Mathias was suddenly very glad he was looking away, his cheeks burning at the compliment. At least Edwin had the decency to sound bashful. "I thought there was something happening between us, and if I'm wrong, then we can just forget it ever happened."

That would be the reasonable course of action, the sensible one, and yet it was nigh unthinkable. He had to focus on his job, especially with where things were headed, but not kissing Edwin again was such an unbearable thought to him. Mathias didn't know how he had been so thoroughly ruined by one simple kiss, but here he was, a mess in Edwin's living room.

Edwin approached Mathias, placing a hand on his shoulder with a delicate care, as if he was afraid of startling Mathias. Mathias had two options; what he should do, and what he wanted to do.

Mathias spun to face Edwin and pulled him down into a kiss.

* * *

To say that their relationship progressed steadily would be a bold lie. After that first night, it flat-lined, with Mathias avoiding Edwin with the excuse of work until Edwin was sent with a handful of Stonemasons to the Black Morass on order from the Alliance. When he came back two and a half months later, Mathias greeted him with teeth and fire, and Edwin reciprocated immediately.

Things continued like that for a bit before evening out, with Mathias losing his nerves—much to Edwin's annoyance, which he voiced repeatedly—and finding them again until Mathias lost his nerves less and less, and they found the other's company more and more.

But now, the two were on a rooftop in the middle of Stormwind, sweating and panting in the afterglow of a shared moment, and Mathias found himself saying, "that was the worst thing we've ever done."

Edwin scoffed, more defensive and harsh than he had much right to be, as he put himself together again. "You're a wet blanket, y'know that?" 

"My back is already sore from this."

"Wet. Blanket."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me that your knees aren't hurting," Mathias demanded, forcing himself to sit up. The roof shingles underneath were hard and unpleasant, and he'd been pressed against them for far too long, to the point where he was concerned that he might be bruised from this.

Edwin looked at Mathias, eyes catching his. "My knees don't hurt."

"You're a terrible liar," Mathias spat, giving him a playful swat.

Edwin grinned at that. "You're just a pansy."

"I'm a pansy?" Mathias echoed.

"Yeah."

"Really?"

Edwin hummed in affirmation as he closed the gap between them, pressing his lips against Mathias'. Mathias humored it for a moment before breaking apart. "Well you're an ass."

"Rude," Edwin grinned again.

"You asked for it," Mathias smiled back.

Edwin took Mathias' bottom lip between his teeth before trailing down his neck, and Mathias' hands roamed Edwin's arms, feeling the well toned muscle from years of hard work underneath his fingertips. Mathias looked out, across the city. Edwin had put in so much blood and sweat into everything around them, and his efforts showed.

The cathedral's bell rang, echoing throughout the air as it signaled the new hour. Mathias closed his eyes and sighed, taking a moment to relish in the feeling that was Edwin's teeth against his throat before saying, "I have to get going."

"Course you do," Edwin said against Mathias’ skin, tone more hostile than it needed to be that time too. It wasn't like the two were hiding it well from Mathias' grandmother; he knew that from the look of disappointment in her eyes and her mouth drawn thin when Mathias was back from their first night together. But she said nothing of it, which certainly wasn't encouragement, but it wasn't outright discouragement either, so Mathias still worked to keep the pretext of them being secretive about their relationship.

"I have a job to do, and I know you do too," Mathias said. He could have stayed longer if he didn't have to clean up, but his shirt was a mess now. "And we both know that Baros isn't good enough to hold down the fort for longer than an hour."

"I'm gonna tell him you said that."

"Ass," Mathias repeated.

Edwin pulled himself up, lingering by Mathias' ear to say, "Shame though, I could stand to see your pretty mouth get put to use tonight."

Mathias closed his eyes and sighed, trying to ignore the way his face burned with more than just surprise at the brash comment. "Light," he breathed. He put his hands on Edwin's shoulders and pushed him off. He could say something about finding him later that night, but with how busy the guild had been with its transition, he couldn't make that promise. Instead, he said, "I'll find you when I can."

It sounded empty in the air, when Mathias said it (and when Shaw looked back on it, but it was during a time in his life when he meant it). Mathias brought him in for a quick kiss before standing. "I can't promise much, but I can promise that."

Edwin nodded with bitter understanding.

* * *

Mathias pulled Edwin down into a kiss, hungry and desperate. Edwin, just as quickly, pulled away, biting the bottom lip before sitting back up. “You look great like this,” he remarked, grinning as he wiped at his mouth.

Mathias flushed at the compliment. He was in Edwin’s bed, the two taking advantage of one of the few nights they could share with each other. “Are you going to make me wait?”

“Maybe,” Edwin said, running a hand along Mathias’ upper thigh. “We do have all night, after all.”

Mathias wet his lips and pushed the fringe of his hair back. “Well, I’d really like—”

The sound of the front door opening from far off immediately put Mathias on edge. Edwin caught on to that. “It’s just Baros,” he murmured. Edwin and Baros were housed together for the time being, as many of the Stonemasons were, packed into small homes by the twos and threes. But Baros wasn’t to be back for a while tonight. “Just have to be quiet. You can manage that, can’t you?”

Mathias could, when Edwin wasn’t a terror, but the thought of Baros also being in the place still kept his nerves on high. “Edwin,” Mathias said, voice barely above a whisper.

There was pounding at Edwin’s door, and Mathias nearly jumped out of his skin. “Edwin!” Baros exclaimed, slightly muffled by the door. “Get out here, we need to talk!” His tone conveyed urgency.

“I’m sort of in the middle of something,” Edwin replied, voice raised.

“I don’t care who’s in your bed; kick her out, we need to talk!”

It was at this point that Mathias realized that Edwin hadn’t told Baros about them and Mathias _definitely_ never mentioned it to Baros. They exchanged a glance, and Edwin gave an apologetic look as he shifted his weight off of Mathias. He got up from the bed and dressed quickly, the entire time debating on if he should go out the window instead. “Edwin!” Baros repeated.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Edwin assured as he pulled his pants on. “Actually, no, I’m not. Thanks for that.”

Mathias threw him a chiding stare at that, and Edwin just grinned. “This is important,” Baros replied. 

With a reluctant sigh, Mathias swallowed down all the embarrassment he had over this, and opened the door, coming face to face with Baros. Baros’ eyebrows shot up his forehead as they locked eyes, and Mathias gave him a slight nod before ducking his head and moving out into the hallway, cheeks burning.

“You…” Baros said to Edwin as Mathias rounded the corner to the front door, his voice carrying down the hall. “I—”

“Yeah, what about it?”

Mathias opened the front door and heard, “I’m just surprised he gives you the time of day, let alone this, that’s all.” He hesitated at that, standing in the doorway.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know well what I’m talking about,” Baros insisted.

“I don’t—”

There were sounds of movement, like someone was being shoved. “You know what we’ve talked about.” The rest that followed was much quieter, and something in Mathias pulled at him, to go and investigate, to listen in, but he already had the door open. They’d know if he lingered. All Mathias could do was archive that conversation into his mind before exiting the house and closing the door behind him as silently as possible.

* * *

Mathias found himself inside Stormwind's keep much more than seemed necessary for an assassin that _wasn't_ trying to kill the king. He didn't like it there; eyes were on him at all times, as he was still an assassin, even if he was there by favor of the king. And if it wasn't because he was an assassin, it was because he had gotten the favor of the king while having no clear nobility line. Mathias learned _very_ quickly how much he didn't like the noble houses in Stormwind because of the latter, while the former was just the guard doing their job. Mathias held the opinion that the nobles were just far too nosy for their own good.

The bold ones would approach Mathias, and, invariably, they would ask something along the lines of, "what title do you hold?"

Mathias would clasp his hands behind his back tightly, trying to disguise the gesture as a move of professionalism rather than what it was, which was a move of barely restrained annoyance. "Addressing me as Shaw is more than acceptable," he would say, throwing in a "my lord" or "my lady" after.

It wasn't the answer to their question, not directly, at least. The smarter ones could extrapolate that referring to Mathias by only his family name meant there was no title to go before said family name. The smarter ones, however, also tended to be the ones that didn't bother Mathias in the first place, either out of caution or fear, or even just apathy. The ones who weren't as smart, would press on. "Oh, I'm sure it's acceptable for you, but I—"

And it would be at that point where Mathias' patience wore thin, and he would interrupt with, "if you have any comments to make about my presence or questions about who I am, then I'm sure that the king would be more than happy to hear them."

That had a high success rate of shutting them up, and he never heard anything from the king about his conversations with the nobles, so it was never his problem. It was a steadfast rule that the nobles avoided him, and he avoided the nobles, and they both seemed content with that.

That was, however, changed with Lady Katrana Prestor.

His grandmother was quite proud over the fact that Mathias had a well-tuned sense of paranoia, being one of the only things about Mathias she gave genuine compliments about. It was one of the reasons he was chosen to be their member in the keep; with both a healthy dose of paranoia and a thought process she's instilled in him, she trusted him to act soundly in her stead within the keep.

So when red flags and alarm bells went off within Mathias towards Lady Prestor, well, it was cause for concern.

"Mathias Shaw," she greeted, piercing eyes on Mathias. He had been on his way out of the keep when she caught him, walking through a hallway he thought would be empty— _was_ empty, except for them. 

Mathias dipped his head respectfully towards the approaching woman. "Lady Prestor," he returned, hoping she would leave it at that and pass Mathias.

She did not, nearing Mathias instead as she looked him over. "I must say, when the king said he wanted to bring the Assassins Guild into the military, I was doubting how useful such... unorthodox tactics would be," she said. She got close to Mathias, too close. Katrana was a bit taller than Mathias as is, but today she wore heels that made her seem to tower over him, and with how close she was, Mathias was forced to angle his head upwards to look at her. "But I must say, I am impressed with your spies so far."

The House of Nobles largely did not agree with King Varian's decision to bring the guild into the folds, questioning the value of such methods on a large scale. Mathias singlehandedly shut them all up with a detailed report on the going-ons of every kingdom north of the mountains three weeks later. It brought a smug satisfaction that he could barely tamper down during the meeting, in all honesty. "Well, the guild prides itself in a job well done," Mathias said, keeping his voice neutral and resisting the urge to take a step back.

Lady Prestor took Mathias' chin in a delicate hand and raised it even more, and Mathias' hands twitched. He clasped them behind his back and bit the inside of his cheek to try and stop himself from reacting. He wanted to wrench himself free, but Lady Prestor carried far too much weight around the keep for such an action. She looked him over with an expression of boredom, but her eyes were searching for something. Mathias felt far too exposed under her gaze.

"Keep up the work then," she said finally, her expression entirely unreadable to Mathias. "I'd hate to see such a... promising investment fail." She finally let go of him and moved away, heading down the hall. "Give your grandmother my regards," she called as she walked away, leaving Mathias alone in the hallway. He turned to watch her go, not moving until she disappeared around the corner.

His skin crawled, and he couldn't figure out why.

(Shaw still didn't know how his grandmother figured it out, or even if it was just a lucky guess, but to this day, he was thankful for her making mental fortitude training a standard from that point on.)

* * *

"How has work been?"

Edwin sighed a sigh that carried the weight of the day in it. "The dwarves are very... particular about what's in their district, and the gnomes' own construction of their tunnel is getting in the way."

The two were sitting in Edwin's home late one night. It was a quiet night, one that Mathias always relished. "It's a little more than a tunnel," Mathias pointed out.

"It's a tunnel to me." Edwin sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "But, what about you, how's your work been?"

"Long," Mathias responded. When he wasn't in the keep, he was in the barracks training mental resistance. His head hadn't stopped aching since that first day of training, but his grandmother refused to let up until it became innate to Mathias. "The House of Nobles have a lot of words to string together to say absolutely nothing of value."

Edwin snorted a laugh. "I could have told you that."

The corners of Mathias' mouth turned up with Edwin's laugh. "The worst part is they think they're worth listening to." He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. "It's a real practice in patience trying to listen to them."

"You all right?" Edwin asked.

"Yes, my head just hurts," Mathias said.

Edwin edged closer and said, "I might be able to... relieve some of that pain."

Mathias removed his hands from his eyes, looking over to the other man. Before he could criticize Edwin's lack of subtlety with such a thing, but the comment died in his throat when Edwin closed the gap between them. He tangled a hand into Edwin's long, dark hair when Edwin broke the kiss in favor of sucking marks into Mathias' neck. Mathias closed his eyes and let out a quiet sigh, focusing on the feeling of Edwin against him.

Edwin bit down at the juncture of neck and shoulder, and Mathias gasped in response, curling his fingers in Edwin's hair. "Mine," Edwin said against his skin, possessiveness in his tone.

Mathias swallowed. "Yours," he agreed when he found his voice.

It was moments like this that Mathias relished; when he didn't have his duties to the guild, to Stormwind, when it was just him and Edwin, when he could have a moment for himself. Eventually, this would end, Mathias would have to head back to the guild, and he would focus on his job. But for now, it was just the two of them.

“Fuck me,” Mathias said, tangling a fist in Edwin’s shirt.

With a hum from the back of his throat, Edwin said, “always.”

* * *

Mathias took a deep breath, trying to calm down the heart that thrummed against his chest. He didn't want to do this, but it had to be done, and he rather it be done by his hand. He knocked on the front door and waited in nerve-wracking anticipation. He felt nauseous.

Mathias was considering knocking again by the time the door finally opened, and Mathias looked up in time to watch the pleasant greeting Edwin had immediately get scrapped in favor of, "What happened?"

He felt bare out on Edwin's doorstep, making his stomach turn. "Can I come in?"

Edwin, without hesitation, propped the door open farther and moved aside. Mathias entered, picking at his fingers in an attempt to create an outlet for his nervous energy. When the door closed behind Mathias, he steeled himself and turned to Edwin. "We can't do this anymore," he said.

Edwin looked mildly confused. "Do what?"

"You know what."

Mathias watched Edwin's eyes darkened with understanding, and that understanding soon turned to something close to anger. "Why not?" Somehow, Mathias lost his nerve. He looked down at his hands and struggled to find any words to string together to convey anything useful. "Your grandmother," Edwin guessed, voice quiet.

"I need to focus on my work," Mathias said, which would more or less be confirmation for Edwin.

"You're an adult, Mathias," Edwin said, his anger showing. "This isn't like when we were kids. You don't have to listen to her anymore."

Part of Mathias wanted to explain how the situation was more complex than that, but he knew there was no point to it. It wouldn't do either of them good to have such a conversation now. All Mathias could muster was, "she has a point."

There was silence in response for a long time. "Do I mean anything to you?"

Edwin sounded genuinely hurt, and Mathias' heart ached. "You," _mean everything,_ he wanted to say, but he stopped himself. He sighed, looked up at Edwin, and tried again. "You mean so much to me, but my job is my life."

Edwin looked Mathias over, then glanced away, down to the ground, with a slight shake of the head. He looked as hurt as he sounded, and Mathias had to remind himself that this had to be done. _Break it off with him, or I'll take care of it my way,_ his grandmother had said. She didn't specify what her way was, but Mathias knew his grandmother well enough to know it wouldn't have been anything polite and courteous.

Edwin reached a hand up to the back of his neck, and Mathias watched him as he pulled off his red bandana. He balled it in his hands, paused, and crossed the gap between him and Mathias. "I don't believe there's anything I could say that would change your mind," he said with a quiet voice once more, still hard around the edges with rage that wasn’t directed at Mathias. With a large hand, he took one of Mathias' hands, pressing the bandana into it with the other. Mathias made no protest, he knew Edwin had others anyway. "Let me know if something else does."

Edwin dipped down for a kiss, and Mathias didn't stop him.

* * *

It was a steadfast rule that the nobles only cared about what directly affected them and their pockets. It was one thing Mathias had assumed and had quickly confirmed from his time in the castle. And, such was the way with many rules, there was an exception. Katrana Prestor.

Mathias, as the Assassins Guild representative, was around for most meetings within the keep to build rapport with the House of Nobles. Officially, his job consisted of staying silent until asked directly for his opinion, and then to offer any solutions or assistance the guild could provide. Off the books, however, he was people watching.

While he understood many positions most of the House took, he struggled to come to any conclusions about Lady Prestor's motives. "The Stranglethorn trolls are simply too big of a threat for the kingdom to be left alone," she proclaimed one afternoon, in a meeting on Stormwind's military presence. "I sincerely believe that we should bolster our forces south to prevent an incursion from the beasts."

Like how most meetings started, not everyone was taken with her proposal. "The trolls have not been a threat in some time," one lord pointed out, "and they seem quite keen on staying put in their jungle. I see no reason to poke the bear by sending people there."

"They're trolls," Lady Prestor all but spat before putting on an air of concern. "You heard how the trolls devastated the high elven homeland, surely you would not want the same for Stormwind?"

The lord stammered, "ah, well, no, of course not—"

"Then we must go about the sensible action to take and bolster our military south," she smoothly interrupted.

Mathias mentally ran through everything he could. What could she possibly gain from sending military south? It'd be an added expense on the House's pockets, and while she claimed to be concerned, it seemed far too theatrical to be genuine. "I mean, if not Stormwind, think of Westfall," she continued, breaking Mathias' train of thought. "We cannot leave our breadbasket, not to mention our hard working citizens, defenseless under the possibility of a troll attack."

Mathias bit down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to spark pain across his face. Six weeks prior, Prestor managed to turn a somewhat in favor room entirely against the idea of sending aid to Westfall. The only one who seemed angrier than Mathias about the situation was the queen herself. Tiffin had grown up in those fields too, and Westfall was neglected yet again since the First War.

Lady Prestor's eyes briefly flickered to Mathias, seeping in enough challenge that if Mathias wasn't confident in policing his face, he would have doubted the expression he wore. He simply looked back at her with a level stare until her attention turned to the queen. "Your majesty, I know you hold concerns about Westfall, as it is your place of birth, so surely you could agree that this would be a beneficial action."

Another steadfast rule was that Tiffin Wrynn did not care for Katrana Prestor in the slightest, and Lady Prestor knew that well. Prestor watched her with hawkish eyes, that same challenge she threw Mathias' way now being sent to the queen. _Dare and oppose it,_ it said clearly.

With a swallow, Queen Tiffin conceded, "the safety of all our people is a concern to me."

"So you're in agreement?"

"I believe that if we were to devote men to such an endeavor, they should be nothing more than a defensive line between Stranglethorn and the kingdom," the queen corrected, her tone sharp.

"What else would they be?" Prestor asked with such contrived benevolence that it forced Mathias to resist rolling his eyes.

"Wouldn't this be an unnecessary expense?" One noble meekly asked. "Surely the guard already posted there would be fine."

"Could you put a price on safety?" Prestor countered.

She was met with only silence, and Mathias grit his teeth as Lady Katrana Prestor had, once again, persuaded everyone in the room to stand in agreement, no matter how begrudged, and no matter the issue. Not only that, she at the very least suspected Mathias was from Westfall, despite the effort and lengths he took.

Mathias' head ached.

* * *

As the months passed, Mathias found himself with less and less time on his hands, between working in the castle during the day and training at night, he hardly could find the time to sleep. Every once in a while, however, Mathias was granted with the night off, and Mathias spent it the only way he knew how.

Well, other than sleeping.

"You should see the woman," Baros said. He was fairly drunk, and was working to catch Mathias up to speed on what he had missed while he spent his months working. As it were, he was regaling Mathias with Edwin's newest fling.

Which Edwin seemed uncomfortable about. "Baros," he warned.

Baros entirely ignored him, looking right to Mathias. "She's a part of one of our suppliers, from the logging camp or something, and she's got the biggest—"

"Baros!" Edwin interrupted.

"Heart!" Baros said, looking to Edwin. "I was gonna say heart!"

Mathias snickered into his tankard. "What, afraid I'll get jealous or something?" While there was some mild feeling of childish bitterness in Mathias, he shoved the feeling aside; he didn't expect Edwin to wait for the situation to change, if it ever did at all. Besides, the thought of Edwin being happy was enough for Mathias. 

Edwin glanced over to Mathias, a look of incredulous across his face, but there was clear relief in his eyes.

"Anyway, her rack isn't too bad either," Baros added.

"Baros!" Edwin exclaimed, and Baros and Mathias both started cackling. 

"So, who is this..." Mathias looked for a more diplomatic way to put things, and failed to find an answer quickly. "Large chested woman?"

"No one," Edwin insisted. "It's just a little thing."

"I'll be sure to say that," Baros paused to swallow down a burp, "at your wedding, that she's just no one to you."

Edwin leaned back and facepalmed. "Light, we're not going to get married."

(They got married in the spring of the next year.)

"Can we stop talking about this?" Edwin asked. "I'm sure there's more interesting things to speak about," he looked back at Mathias, "how's castle life?"

Mathias groaned, posting his elbows onto the table and putting his head in his hands. "I feel like the only sane person in the room most of the time."

"That's living in a castle for you," Edwin grinned. "How bad is it?"

Mathias raised his head. "I shouldn't say."

Edwin turned to Baros. "That's how you know it's bad."

"Will the world end if you tell us?" Baros asked.

"Mine might," Mathias said, thinking of something he could share. "Think of how you believe nobles act, and you're right."

"Well, we knew that," Edwin said.

Baros ignored him, stretching a hand over to Mathias. "You are _so_ brave for your time in there," he remarked, wildly genuine that it was bordering comical.

Mathias looked to Baros, a smile across his face. "You're drunk."

"A little."

Mathias chuckled, then rubbed at his face, trying to think of something else. "I don't know. It's just stuffy meetings with stuffy people. Nothing really interesting, just long and boring. I have to do a voice while I'm in there, I guess."

"Wait," Edwin asked, "a voice?"

Baros squinted at Mathias. "What kind of voice?"

"An accent-less one, I suppose is the easiest way to put it. My grandmother wants me to while in the keep. It keeps me just an anonymous face." _They'd use Westfall against me otherwise,_ he wanted to add, but thought better of it.

"How can one do an accent-less voice?" Baros asked, swirling around his ale. "Don't all voices have an accent with them? That's... how you say words."

"It's more of having a neutral dialect," Mathias explained. "It's not necessarily that it's accent-less, but that in Stormwind, my pronunciation can't be tied to a region or class. I sound like I'm from Stormwind, one just can't pinpoint where."

"I'm calling bullshit," Edwin said.

"What? Why would I lie about that?"

"I don't know, but I don't think that's a thing."

Mathias grinned and said in his practiced voice, "I can easily prove you wrong, you know."

Baros physically recoiled at that, and Edwin pulled a face. "Okay, that's weird."

"What?" Mathias asked.

"Hearing that come out of your mouth is weird."

"Maybe you shouldn't doubt me next time."

"Do it again," Baros demanded, slamming his open palm on the table.

"Do _not,"_ Edwin said, throwing Baros a warning look.

Mathias laughed again.

* * *

"Ah, Shaw," the king greeted when Mathias entered the throne room. "Your absence was noted yesterday." Lady Prestor was to the right of the thrones, her eyes steady on Mathias.

Mathias paid no heed to her and bowed before the thrones, saying, "forgive me, your majesties. I hope I wasn't too missed."

"It is forgiven," the king said.

"I hope all is well," Queen Tiffin piped up before her husband could add anything else.

"It was nothing dire," Mathias assured, "I was at a friend's wedding."

The queen gave a soft smile at that, "oh, give your friend my regards."

Mathias thought of Edwin's reaction to, _by the way, the queen congratulates you on the wedding._ "I will do so."

Finally, Lady Prestor decided to give her two coppers on the situation, unprompted. "Is a wedding really more important than attending to your duties?"

Mathias, in a relatively poor show of restraint, replied, "with all due respect, milady, I have been in attendance for every meeting since the guild was properly inducted into the Stormwind military. It was the wedding of a man close to me who wanted me to be there, and I figured, due to the ongoing stability of the situation with the orcs, a singular day of my absence wouldn't imperil anything." He looked to the dais and said, "If it did, then my apologies. I don't intend on making absences a habit."

The queen looked incredibly satisfied with Katrana being told off, while the king seemed to not pay any mind to it. Mathias didn't check for Prestor's reaction, partly because he didn't want to instigate something, mostly because he didn't care for her opinion. "Like I said before, it is forgiven, and besides, there wasn't anything scheduled yesterday that was of much concern to anyone outside the House."

Ah, so she was sour from something that happened yesterday. Or was just being herself. It was hard to tell with her. All the other nobles were an open book with their emotions and poor actors when they tried to hide it, while Mathias began to doubt Lady Prestor was even able to harbor a positive emotion other than smug satisfaction.

With another bow, Mathias took his place beside the dias, opposite of Prestor.

* * *

Baros made a noise about finding Mathias, which seemed to be the only way he and Edwin seemed capable of letting Mathias know that they wanted his attention, and Baros must have made a Light-damned racket of it if as soon as Mathias walked into the guildhall, he was grabbed by the shoulder by the door watch. "Alexston is looking for you," she said.

So, Mathias, of course, checked Baros' apartment first. There was no answer when he knocked on the door, and the place was empty when Mathias picked the lock. As he locked the door behind him, in a half crouch and buzzing with nervous energy, he racked his brain as to where Baros could possibly be.

Two harsh raps on the door was all it took before it swung open, and Baros was there on the other side. Before he could say anything, Mathias said, "you have to stop telling the entire city that you're looking for me."

"I will when it stops working," Baros said. "The woman at the door of the guildhall scares me."

"That's her job." Baros pushed the door open for Mathias, and he followed Baros into Edwin's home. "What's—"

He stopped when he saw Edwin standing across the room, looking happier than Mathias had ever seen him, something bundled in his arms. "I have a daughter," he beamed.

Mathias took a breath. He knew Edwin's wife was pregnant, Edwin himself told Mathias last they saw each other, but the reality of the situation hadn't really hit Mathias until now. "Congratulations," he said. He meant it.

Edwin crossed the living room, saying, "here, I want you to hold her."

"Uh," Mathias said, clamming up. "I, I don't— I mean—"

"Mathias, I did not have Baros bothering all my neighbors about you for you to _not_ hold my daughter," Edwin said.

Mathias was, all of a sudden, incredibly nervous. "I don't want to drop her."

"You won't," Edwin insisted, and Mathias learned how hard it truly was to not take a baby that was being handed to you. His resolve crumbled almost immediately, and he took the tiny, precious bundle in his arms.

"I don't think I've ever seen you look so terrified," Baros commented after a moment.

Mathias threw Baros a look over his shoulder, but didn't dare turn to him. "I couldn't forgive myself if I dropped her," he explained.

Edwin, in an act of mercy, took her back from Mathias without complaint. "You wouldn't drop her."

"Not on purpose." Mathias looked to Edwin, seeing the man's look of pure happiness across his face. It brought some warmth to Mathias, at seeing Edwin happy. "What's her name?"

"Vanessa."

* * *

"Can I help you with something?" Mathias asked. He was sitting on Edwin's couch, not far from Edwin, watching Vanessa as she wandered about. Edwin had leaned in close, close enough to get Mathias' heart thumping.

"I think those nobles are making you old," he replied, more at Mathias than towards him.

Mathias narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"You have a gray hair."

As he turned more towards Edwin, Edwin's eyes met Mathias'. Lines had begun to work their way across his face. Time marched on for them both, it seemed. "Am I not allowed to age?" Mathias asked, not bothering to try and fight down the slight smile that crossed his face.

"You're not even in your twenty-fifth year yet." Edwin leaned back, giving Mathias his space back. He glanced at Vanessa, Mathias noting a certain softness to his gaze as he did. "I think that may be a new record, y'know. Fastest gray hair."

"I'm certain that archmage Kh—"

"He was cursed, that doesn't count," Edwin cut off.

"Sure it does."

"No, it doesn't."

"You didn't specify—"

"I didn't think I had to!"

Mathias grinned wide now. "You should have known better than that. We've been friends for most of our lives after all."

"You and Baros with your lightdamn semantics," Edwin muttered. "I thought you two would grow out of it, to be honest."

"That was your mistake."

"Clearly." Vanessa had made her way over to them, walking over on unsteady legs, and Mathias turned his attention to her, immediately nervous about how easily she could fall over. It was with her Mathias realized he knew absolutely nothing about child-rearing, and that incredible delicate children were also incredibly resilient. Somehow, she made her way over to them without falling, feet unsteady but not unsure, grabbing the edge of the couch between Mathias and Edwin.

Vanessa looked up at Mathias with wide eyes. Mathias looked back at her, a little uncomfortable. "Oh V," Edwin said in a fond voice, and Vanessa looked over to him. "You make Mathias nervous."

Mathias looked to Edwin. "I'm just not very good with kids."

Edwin smiled. "It's been a while since I've seen you nervous."

Mathias blinked at the words. That was not the route he expected the conversation to go. He looked back down to Vanessa, who had turned her attention back to Mathias with him speaking. She had her mother's eyes, a bright blue. She had died not long after Vanessa's birth, something that shook Edwin incredibly, and Mathias was there for him when he could be, when work allowed for it. He had shirked most of his guild duties—all that he could get away with before his grandmother started giving him an earful—to do so.

Edwin had thrown himself into his work and his daughter, and now, a year later, he seemed to be doing much better. But with that, it seemed that their relationship was dipping into something Mathias wasn't entirely comfortable with. He was older now, he had a good enough grasp on his emotions, and he knew full well that Edwin was dancing a line that Mathias thought they defined long ago. While some childish part of Mathias wanted to give into Edwin's rather blatant coming-on, the majority of him was uncomfortable.

Vanessa lost interest in the two, and moved on elsewhere, walking over to the rather sparse bookshelf across the room. Mathias watched her go, trying to take his mind off of things, which succeeded, as Vanessa's wobbling made him wince in preparation for a fall. Light, Mathias didn't know how people had kids. He ran a hand through his hair in worry.

"How are things up there, anyway?" Edwin asked. A loaded question, but many questions were lately. Stormwind's reconstruction was coming to a close soon, and there was anticipation in the air for all the Stonemasons, who had had nothing but silence from the house.

Mathias knew the reason why; the king was out of the kingdom more often than not, and the house had repeatedly been putting off the discussions on it. "Tedious," he said, pointedly ignoring why Edwin was actually asking.

Mathias could feel Edwin waiting for more of an explanation, but he steadfastly refused to. He knew Edwin was trying to angle the conversation in a certain way, and if he wasn't going to be direct about it, Mathias wasn't going to budge in any certain way. Edwin switched gears. "How's the guild?"

"Same old, same old. I'm getting assigned to field work again soon."

"Oh really?" Edwin asked. "Is that good or bad?"

"It'll be a nice change of pace," Mathias said.

"But do you want to do it?"

Mathias' eyes narrowed the slightest bit at that, at the slight change of tone to cautious. "It's work. I'm sure you don't want to help set foundation day in and day out, but someone has to."

A stolen glance to Edwin showed that there was clear conflict across his face, absently watching Vanessa in an attempt to try and play off the conversation as casual. Mathias watched him search for his words. "I can still... choose to do what I do, though," he settled on.

The world concaved for a moment. "What?"

Edwin looked over, clearly trying to gauge Mathias' emotions with that response. "I mean, you were... you know."

Mathias could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" He asked, unable to hide the shock, the _outrage_ he felt.

"Mathias," Edwin pleaded, as if Mathias' response was unreasonable.

"Not cool, Edwin," he snapped.

Edwin has the audacity to look hurt, of all things. It only managed to stoke the flames of anger inside Mathias. "I'm not wrong," he quietly insisted, a whisper under his breath.

Mathias rolled his eyes with a scoff, standing from the couch. He wasn't having this argument. "You don't know what you're talking about," Mathias said, forcing his voice steady, but not bothering to hide his anger. He pulled the door open and looked back to Edwin "I suggest that you don't speak like you understand what I do."

"I don't," Edwin said. "But I know how you were raised—"

"You don't know _anything."_

Mathias slammed the door closed behind him, perhaps a bit harsher than he should, but indignation burned in him. He took a breath, trying to collect himself, and began his way home.

* * *

Mathias was adapting poorly to the Stranglethorn climate.

 _"Remember, layers are a good thing!"_ Freemore, leader of the Four Finger rogues, had told Mathias before he had left. _"They keep you cool in all that heat."_ Well, it wasn't working. Mathias took the collar of his overshirt between two fingers and shook it, creating a pitiful circulation of air against his chest, barely any worse than the breeze that was coming off the ocean currently. The air was so thick with moisture that he wouldn't be surprised if he were to drown on land before he managed to make it out of here.

Booty Bay was hardly a place that Mathias would call... well, he would rather not have to speak of it at all. A den of debauchery, it housed all sorts of delinquent types; the city nestled just outside the military range of Stormwind. With no fear of getting caught, the denizens operated openly. From where he was crouched, positioned in the shade of the trading hall, Mathias was watching a high elf supply a goblin with what he could only assume was some arcane influenced inebriant. It was a far cry from Mathias' lifestyle, that was for certain.

A rather hefty amount of gold was put into the hands of the high elf, and the transaction was complete. Without another word between them, the high elf headed off, and the goblin looked around. It didn't take him long for his eyes to find Mathias', and he took his time in walking over to him. "You looking to buy?" He asked in a low voice, innocuous enough.

Mathias gave a half shrug. "Depends on if the price is worth the crown."

The goblin grinned. "You're Pathonia's protégé, aren't ya?"

"Mathias," he confirmed, though he hardly enjoyed being referred to that way. He stuck his hand out to the goblin; with him crouching, they were more at eye level. "The Shiv, I'm guessing."

"Renzik will do." He took Mathias' hand in his, giving it a shake. "Don't do much shivving lately," he added, almost mournfully.

Mathias nodded to Renzik's pockets. "What was all that about?"

"Little side job for the guild," he explained. "I make a good chunk of the funds here. Besides, it helps with the cover."

"Does it?"

Renzik shot him a strange look. "You ever seen a goblin that wasn't trying to sell you something?"

Mathias thought about that, despite the fact that he could count all the times he had seen a goblin on both hands. "I suppose not."

"Exactly. It'd be suspicious if I was just here to enjoy the ocean."

"But still, selling illicit substances?"

"Never underestimate the buying power of being a supplier. I know everything that happens in this port simply because these people won't shut their mouths when buying bloodthistle."

Hm, interesting. "So what is going on in this port, anyway?"

"Honestly? Nothing of any interest," Renzik sighed, looking around. "Most of the pirate crews are feuding amongst themselves, so they aren't much of a threat. The Blackwater Raiders, on the other hand, are perfectly content of ignoring those north of the jungle if they continue ignoring them."

"Anything else of note?"

"Nope," Renzik said. "Unless you want to learn about the drama between the crews. Really riveting stuff, if you're a housewife needing something exciting to gossip about."

Mathias bit back a laugh. "I'll pass."

"Well good, then you can get out of here. Wish I could. Say, could you put in a good word to her and see if maybe I could leave this place?"

"If I put in a good word, she'll probably not want to take you off the job, since you're doing it so well."

Renzik considered that with a pained look. "Yeah, you're probably right on that one."

* * *

Mathias should have known better; he was being hunted like prey, something that got blood pumping hard through his veins. It had been a while since he had felt like this, though the way Lady Prestor looked at the others in the meeting sure brought a somewhat familiar feeling in Mathias. He pressed himself against a tree, keeping silent and listening for any sort of clue as to where his unseen pursuer was. Whoever they were, they were good at hiding among the trees, and it was rather terrifying.

With a hand on a dagger hilt, he ignored the pounding in his ears and dared a step around the tree, then another, glancing around. Nothing. It just made him more tense. He felt exposed, _was_ exposed, feeling his hidden hunter's eyes on him. Why would they wait? What was the game they were playing?

Mathias darted out, away from the tree, with the intention of crossing the forest as fast as possible. He didn't make it farther than a few trees before he was slammed against one, the air knocked from his lungs and a knife at his throat. "Why are you looking for me?"

The blade wasn't pointed towards Mathias, the cool metal just rested against his skin. He evaded the question, "how'd you find me?"

"You assassins may be good at sneaking, but I _am_ a ranger. You're in my territory."

Mathias grinned. "Good to see those elves have more than just shooting well to teach you."

Nathanos Marris harrumphed, but it was to hide a grin. He pulled his hunting knife away, but kept Mathias pressed against the tree. "What does the guild want, Shaw?"

"What makes you think I'm here on work?"

"Please, as much as I'd like to think you'd come here just to see me, I know for a fact the only thing that'd get you to cross the mountains is your job."

Nathanos wasn't a part of the guild, rather, he was just someone his grandmother managed to wrangle into her grasp, and Mathias had helped her with that. The ranger lord was a highly respected man everywhere in the Eastern Kingdoms, at the very least in the human kingdoms, due to his position. Everyone rallied around the idea of a human sticking it to the stuffy elves that always thought themselves better than the humans, after all. With his position, he had access to information that would be difficult for the guild to come across themselves. The only problem was the fact that Nathanos rarely wanted to share.

Mathias, however, could be fairly convincing.

"The guild leader wanted me to touch base with contacts in the kingdoms," Mathias said. "So here I am, touching base."

Nathanos hummed, considering that. After a moment, he leaned in closer to Mathias. "Was how you were to touch base... specified?"

"Not at all."

Mathias was still pinned to the tree, a powerful arm against his collarbone and Nathanos flush against his body, smelling of pine needles. His heart was still beating hard, his adrenaline not yet dying down. "And so this is how you went about things."

"You're the one with the leg between mine," Mathias pointed out, reaching up to grab at Nathanos' mail cuirass.

"I'm preventing you from running."

Mathias pulled him closer. "You're a shit liar."

"Shut up."

Mathias grinned into their kiss, just a bit smug.

* * *

Mathias nearly missed her—he would have if he didn't know what he was looking for, a slight glint from within the trees, the sunlight reflecting off of something. He hauled himself up into the tree after her, resting on a bough not too far below her. She was perched in a strange way, one leg spread in front of her and up the sturdy branch as the other was bent, her back rested against the thick center of the tree. She rested her rifle on her knee, and watched, still as the grave.

"Kearnen," Mathias greeted.

"Mathias," she returned.

Things had gotten rocky between them since the rebuilding of Stormwind, and it didn’t help that Mathias’ grandmother seemed intent on assigning Amber as far as possible from the kingdom. In his opinion, her skills were wasted here, but his opinion got him nowhere with his grandmother.

He looked out to the fields before them, where the camp laid, four hundred paces away. "What's the situation?"

"Same as last week, and the week before," Kearnen replied with a slight shrug, just enough to convey the fact that she was shrugging, and nothing more as she held her stance. "Why are you here?"

"I was sent to personally check up on those in the field."

Kearnen didn't reply to that, which meant she had a comment that would come off as rude. His grandmother had disciplined her enough over her tongue to the point where the next act would be to cut it out. As a result, Kearnen didn't talk much to Mathias. Fears of repercussions, of word reaching back to her. Mathias understood, he just wished there was a way he could convey that he wouldn't.

(Pathonia Shaw commanded respect, through her actual achievements or through fear, and she was incapable of not being respected. And that was one thing Shaw could never understand.)

Kearnen pulled herself away from the scope of her rifle. "You know," she started, then said nothing else, thinking better of it.

"You didn't expect that the job you got on your sharpshooting skills would consist of not sharpshooting?" Mathias guessed.

A look was thrown Mathias' way, a calculating one, like Kearnen had to navigate through a sea of wrong answers to come across a correct one for their conversation, only using Mathias' expression as a chart. "Those are your words, not mine," she settled on. Neutral territory.

"But not incorrect words," Mathias hazarded.

Kearnen took another couple moments to look at Mathias before returning to her scope without a word. He ached to tell her that he understood how his grandmother was, how he wasn't her, but it wouldn’t achieve anything. The last thing he needed was word making its way back to Stormwind that he was defying the guildmaster.

"The orcs don't do anything," Kearnen said, in a clear effort to wrap things up. "They haven't since I've been here."

Mathias got the hint. "I'll let her know."

* * *

"Mathias Shaw," Jorach remarked, sounding bored as he paged through a large book bound in red leather. "You're getting better."

Well, the jig was up. Mathias stepped out from the shadows, moving to stand beside the large ornate armchair Jorach was reading in. His study was full of towering bookshelves and dark edges, only lit by the flickering fire in the hearth; a false comfort for any would-be assassins, as it were. "Not good enough, it seems."

"You're young." Jorach shrugged, not sparing a glance to Mathias. "Now, let's cut to the chase, what errand are you on?"

"Touching base," Mathias said.

Jorach scoffed before Mathias could say anything else. "Well, do tell Pathonia to come here herself for that. I have a few words for her."

Mathias felt caught in the middle of something he wasn't supposed to be privy to, and while usually that was his job, this time it felt grossly personal. "I could carry a message," he suggested, flat-footed.

"It's really something meant with a specific verbal inflection, and it just doesn’t come out the same way with a Stormwind accent," Jorach said. "Go home, Mathias."

"Did I do something?" Mathias asked without thinking, moving in front of Jorach to block the light.

That got his attention, as Jorach looked up. There was the barest hint of amusement that found itself along with the annoyance that painted his face. Not annoyance, frustration. "No," he said, openly honest. "I have no issues with you directly."

"Indirectly, then," Mathias said.

Jorach went back to his book, despite the fact that Mathias was still blocking the light. "Go home. Tell Pathonia that if she wants to check up on me, to do it herself."

Mathias raised his chin. "She just might, with your goading."

Jorach looked back up again, eyes flashing with something dangerous behind them. "Not everyone is frightened by your grandmother, Mathias."

"I wasn't saying it as a threat."

Jorach's expression settled into something more unreadable as he considered that. "I won't say it again."

"Good day, Lord Ravenholdt." Mathias nodded his head in farewell and turned to the door.

"Good day, Shaw."

* * *

Mathias had hoped for the calming motions of normalcy when he returned to Stormwind. He gave his reports to his grandmother, gave a quick rundown of all the guild members and contacts he met with and what they had to say, and had hoped that would be the end of it, and he could go and sleep in his bed for the first time in weeks.

And he almost had that, almost.

"Your little friend is looking for you, by the way," his grandmother remarked after she dismissed Mathias from her office.

Mathias paused at the doorway. What did Edwin want? They hadn't exactly left on the best of terms, last they spoke. "VanCleef?"

"Alexston."

Mathias turned to his grandmother. "Baros Alexston?"

"Came to the door and everything," she remarked without looking up.

Mathias' stomach dropped, and he bowed his head again before finally leaving the office. He didn't even think as he hurried out of the barracks and out into the night, rushing off to the Cathedral District, fear pushing him through the streets.

"Where have you been?" Baros hissed when he opened his front door, grabbing Mathias by the wrist and pulling him into his home.

"Everywhere," Mathias said simply as Baros closed the door behind him, locking it. "What happened, what's wrong?"

"I— I don't know." Baros raked his fingers through his hair, a look of mild panic across his face that was quickly becoming less mild. "It's just, I've been, the guild, we've—"

"Baros," Mathias stopped him, grabbing the architect by the shoulders. "From the beginning."

Baros nodded, taking a moment to collect himself before shouldering Mathias' hands away. "There's been meetings in the castle. I haven't been to the meetings, but Edwin and a few others have. And every time they go to these meetings, there's... things get worse."

"Worse? Worse how?"

"I... I don't know how to phrase it. I don't even know what I am really seeing. It's just..." Baros paused, looking as if he was going to hurt himself from how hard he was trying to think of a way to word his thoughts. "There's red flags. They go to the castle fine, and they come back... different."

"You need to be more descriptive than that."

Baros thought for a moment. "Frustrated and angry, I guess, which is not really a surprise when dealing with nobles—no offense."

Mathias blinked, confused by the sentiment. "I'm not a noble."

"You're something of an honorary one."

"Is that what you think?"

"...Is it not true?"

"No, it isn't. All the nobles detest my presence there."

"Oh," was all Baros said, like the correction conflicted with something he was certain was the truth.

"I'm not in there because they think I was born into nobility." Mathias felt the need to continue. "I'm there because the king wanted a representative from the guild at the table, and my grandmother made sure it was me."

Again, Baros looked confused by that, before shaking his head, like he was trying to physically clear it. "That's besides the point anyway. They're... aggressive... after these meetings."

That was an unsettling adjective to ascribe to the Stonemasons, to Edwin. "Aggressive how?"

"At first they were just angry at the situation, but then..." Baros seemed to physically struggle with getting out the words. "I know what I saw, I just can't... get my thoughts to cooperate with my mouth."

"Have you been drinking?" Mathias hazarded.

"Mathias," Baros said, pleading yet insulted. "I swear on my father's grave that something _weird_ is happening."

Mathias sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because..." Baros paused. "I don't know. You're a problem solver?" Baros pressed either hand to his temples and closed his eyes. "I don't know; I've had a headache for the past two week over this, I feel like I'm going mad, and I know you fix things. Please fix it."

It was an honest confession, and Mathias wanted to help him, but he didn't even actually know what the issue _was._ He thought. "The meetings in the castle, you said, that's where the issues come from?"

Baros nodded.

"I'll..." What would Mathias even _do?_ "I'll see what the issue is."

"Sorry," Baros said. He looked incredibly tired and incredibly stressed. "If anyone could figure out what's going on, it's you."

* * *

From the moment Mathias passed through the gates of the keep, he felt a migraine coming on. It was going to be one of those days it seemed.

Like clockwork, as he passed through the often empty halls instead of the bustling ones, Lady Prestor managed to intercept him. "Ah, Shaw," she greeted, as if it wasn't entirely intentional that she happened to be in the halls Mathias always took. "Here I was starting to think you've fled to the countryside."

"Lady Prestor." While Mathias wasn't entirely trying to hide from her, or to be sneaking around the keep at all, it still felt like an insult that she found him so easily. "I was simply on assignment for the guild, as I said before my absence."

"Yes, yes, I know," she said. Mathias tried to walk past her, but she sidestepped into his path just enough so that if he did try, he'd be clearly trying to move around her, which would be rude. He hated this keep. "It's good to see you're back safely, though I'm sure your job was no difficulty for you."

Mathias' head throbbed terribly. Prestor was being nice to him, and that didn't happen. It was wrong and it made his skin crawl. He wished she'd just speak plainly with what she wanted, and against his better judgement, he voiced that. "Is there something I can help you with, milady?" He asked, trying not to let his annoyance bleed into his tone as he met her gaze. She was still taller than him in those damned heels.

For a fraction of a second, surprise crossed her face, along with disappointment. She quickly covered, leaving Mathias reeling from the open display. "Bold, Shaw."

The offense was manufactured to disguise whatever actually surprised her, and Mathias could tell. "I feel as if it would be an insult to your intelligence if we both pretend you weren't expecting me to walk this way," he said, raising his chin. "So again, is there something I can help you with?"

Katrana looked down at Mathias, watching him in contemplation like a predator does to prey that would put up a fight, wondering if it was even worth the trouble to get the meal. "The king is out on one of his expeditions," she stated, walking away from Mathias. "He should be returning sometime next week."

"That's it?"

"Thought you would appreciate the update," she called over her shoulder.

Mathias would be filing that information away under 'things he already knew," but he couldn't help feel that she was originally planning on something else instead.

Maybe it was just the ache in his head.

* * *

Mathias had no idea how things got this bad this quickly.

He sat in on a meeting with the House and the Stonemasons, the king absent due on one of his trips while the queen was absent due to her recent pregnancy. As such, it was anarchy in that room, and Mathias wanted to cuff everyone in the room to get them to act sensible.

“Surely you don’t mean this to be a serious request,” one of the nobles remarked with a scoff.

Edwin looked just about ready to lunge across the table and tear him apart with his bare hands. “We have families to feed.”

“This goes a bit farther than just feeding families,” another noble scoffed.

“We have labored over this city for a decade, now,” Edwin snapped. “The Stonemasons have worked hard to fulfil your demands for it, you can’t just _not_ pay us.”

Mathias felt his jaw tighten without his permission, and made a conscious effort to loosen it. He could barely follow the discussion with how intensely his head hurt, like he had tried to drink Baros under the table last night, which was a mistake he made only once. His thoughts felt like molasses, the only thing he could coherently hold onto was how wrong the situation felt. It wasn’t natural by any means. It couldn’t be.

Lady Prestor was helming the discussion, carrying herself with an air of authority, but she did little to mediate those who were heated. She would much rather watch the situation unfold with a look that was impossible to read. Beside her, a noblewoman spoke up. “You don’t really mean for us to pay in for this, I mean, it’s borderline criminal.”

Edwin looked to Mathias as another Stonemason started talking. He had been doing that since he saw Mathias, stealing expectant glances towards him, but never lingering long. Now, he openly watched Mathias, and there was only so long he could avoid to look at Edwin. When he felt Prestor’s gaze on him as well, he let in a silent inhale before looking at Edwin with some level of impassiveness. Edwin’s expression was pleading, one that withered easily under Mathias’ watch before he looked away again.

“Shaw,” Lady Prestor started. Mathias, surprised, looked at her. “What is your opinion on this?”

Mathias frowned, painfully aware of how everyone’s eyes were on him. “I am a third party in this, I hardly feel as if my opinion should be considered in the matter.”

“I’m curious,” Katrana pressed. “You are a valued member of the council, I want to know where you stand on this.”

He knew what she was trying to do; trying to see what side he’d stand on. He made no effort to hide his discontentment with her efforts as his headache worsened. “In my opinion, two parties had a predetermined agreement. Pulling out on your end of the agreement puts in question the house’s integrity. But, as I’ll say again, I am a third party in this.”

With an insufferably unreadable tone and tenor, Lady Prestor said, “your opinion is still valued.”

Mathias felt dread growing in his stomach, and he bowed his head, opting to stay silent for the rest of the meeting. Luckily, the house and the Stonemasons seemed more than content to argue over each other instead of asking him for more input until the allotted time was up.

“Well, that is all the time we have for this meeting,” Prestor said, clasping her hands and speaking with frustrating calmness. “I thank you for your time, Stonemasons.”

“We didn’t come to an agreement,” Edwin pointed out.

“A conclusion will be reached, don’t worry.”

Edwin narrowed his eyes, catching the change in vocabulary. With a scoff, he shunted his chair back and stood, the Stonemasons following with equal aggression. Mathias ached, wishing to tell off Prestor, but he knew too damn well he couldn’t. If the crown didn’t punish him severely, his grandmother sure would. 

The rest of the house stood from their seats, and Mathias stood as well, ready to get some fresh air. He couldn’t wait to leave this damned keep. "Shaw," called Lady Prestor, never one to allow small miracles.

Edwin, on his way out with the Stonemasons, glanced over to Mathias at the mention of his name. Mathias, noting him, held his gaze for a moment, before tearing it away towards Prestor. "How may I help you, my lady?" he asked with a feigned display of patience.

"May I speak with you about something?"

Red flags were waving within Mathias, and he was certain it showed on his face in some way. Edwin hesitated to watch them. "Of course."

"Come with me," she said.

The red flags waved even harder, but Mathias followed her as Katrana led him to the set of doors on the opposite end, away from the Stonemasons. Mathias looked back to Edwin, tilted his chin up in regard, and turned to follow her. "Now, there's a budgetary meeting next week," she said as they left through the doors, emptying out into a quiet, empty hall.

“Yes, I am aware,” he said as they turned a corner, concern growing as he recognized that this was one of the less trafficked places of the keep. Every fiber of his being screamed with his training, that this was a trap and that he should be running. Prestor rested a hand on Mathias' shoulder and, very deliberately, pushed Mathias against the wall.

His hands went to the daggers at his waist from instinct, and he forced himself to rest his arms at his sides, balled up into fists. "Look at you," she said, quickly changing topics now that they were alone. "a young, common born man, sitting at the table with nobility." She inched closer, trapping Mathias against the wall. His heartbeat echoed in his ears, feeling like cornered prey. "Are you even older than the king?"

"What do you want?" Mathias said, proud of how steady his voice sounded to his ears.

Prestor reached a hand to Mathias' chin, tilting it upwards as she examined him like a specimen. She was naturally a few inches taller than Mathias, and the heels she wore exacerbated that gap. "You're a quiet, secretive man, aren't you?" She asked, ignoring Mathias' question altogether. "I have heard, however, that you don't really take a fancy to women."

Before Mathias could ask why that even _mattered,_ one of her legs slid in between his, and he let out a surprised gasp instead, hands going to his daggers immediately. Katrana _tsked._ "Now, now, let's behave. You know well enough that everyone saw us leave together, and as clever as you are, there's no way you can possibly talk your way out of any... hasty decisions made in this moment."

Ultimately, Katrana was right. She still held Mathias' chin in her hand with a vice grip, forcing him to look at her. She looked so smug, so self-satisfied, and Mathias' face burned with embarrassment. There was a reason why Mathias was never vocal about his personal life. "Aw, you're blushing, how adorable. It really brings out your freckles," she said in a savagely condescending way.

Mathias jerked his head away, and Katrana, mercifully, let him do so. He looked down, wishing he could hide himself. "What do you want?" Mathias repeated.

"All that bravery, all that pride, gone. You may watch your words, but this is altogether a better look for you." Katrana trailed a hand down Mathias' chest, roaming appreciatively. If it was anyone else, _anyone,_ they wouldn't have hands anymore. But Prestor was one of the few people that was entirely untouchable by Mathias, next to the king and queen themselves. "Your grandmother would be ashamed to see you like this, I bet."

"Stop," Mathias breathed out, a quiet, broken plea to unsympathetic ears.

"It's almost humorous how quickly a woman's touch brings you to heel," she mused.

 _"Stop,"_ he repeated.

She regarded him for a moment. Mathias' heart beat hard against his chest. "I want you to agree with the budget I put forward next week," she finally said, a thumb brushing across his cheekbone.

Mathias blinked. That was too simple. All this, for a single vote in her favor? What was she playing? "Why?"

"The king respects your opinion, for some reason. Vote in favor of me, and we can forget about all of this. Vote against me, and, well," Prestor leaned closer to Mathias. She whispered in his ear, "you may not like women, but I don't think your body would know the difference, hm?"

She enunciated her point by pushing her leg further between Mathias', and Mathias felt like a fly trapped in a spider’s web. His skin crawled and he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't even realize he failed to answer her until she prompted him again, "am I understood?"

"Yes, my lady," Mathias managed to choke out.

"Good," Prestor said, pushing herself off from the wall. "I expect that word won't get out about this either, with how good you are at keeping secrets."

Mathias finally looked at her again, humiliation still coloring his face but indignation burning in his eyes. That seemed to be answer enough, as with that, she stalked off deeper into the keep. "See you next week, Shaw."

(Shaw realized it later; someone who could not be swayed by magical manipulation required other methods to be kept in line. A blessing and a curse, Shaw often tried—and failed—to find solace that this action from the scheming dragon was ultimately the best outcome.)

* * *

Mathias saw them before he heard them, as he walked from the Cathedral district to the Keep. A small gathering beside the canals, with a human man Mathias didn’t recognize standing on a crate and speaking to the crowd he gathered. He was undeniably a Stonemason, from his dust stained clothes and built physique, but the most notable thing about him was the red bandanna wrapped around his left bicep.

“The nobles in the keep do not care about us,” he said to the crowd. “The Stonemasons have labored over this city for a decade now, and they are refusing to pay us.” Mathias stopped to watch the display as he got close, perhaps ten feet from the crowd. There was another man standing beside him, though he didn’t stand on a box. A red bandanna was tucked into his pants; it would have been unnoticeable if it weren’t such a brilliant color. “They are too concerned about how much gold is in their pockets to care about us, and they’d rather us starve than live up to the agreement the guild and the house made.”

Something caught the other man’s eye, and he stood up straighter as his companion continued. “They do not listen to polite conversation, we must—”

“That’s enough,” someone said as they approached from behind Mathias. Two patrolling guards came into view as they passed him, and the crowd tentatively backed up a little. “Get out of here.”

“We’re allowed to speak our minds!” The man on the crate said. “It isn’t a crime!”

“You’re causing a disturbance,” the guard replied. “Go speak somewhere where you aren’t bothering people.”

“You’d think we’re a disturbance in our own homes,” the man not on the crate spat, raising himself up and approaching the guard. Mathias reached a hand into his cloak and to the dagger at his belt, taking a step closer.

The man stood toe to toe with a guard. “Get out of here, or you can spend the night in the Stockades,” one of the guards said.

The man on the crate scoffed. “It ain’t worth it,” he remarked. He stepped down, picked up the crate in one arm, and openly scowled at the guards as he passed them. His companion followed suit.

Mathias sighed with relief, releasing his hold on his dagger hilt as the crowd started to disperse. No incident today, then. He continued his way to the keep, thinking about how the red bandanas were never a Stonemason thing, just an Edwin thing.

“You’re late, Shaw,” King Varian remarked as Mathias entered the petitioner’s chamber.

“I nearly thought you weren’t coming,” Lady Prestor piped up.

“Forgive me,” he bowed, ignoring Katrana, “there was a mild disturbance along the canal. I ensured the guards had the situation handled before leaving.” While it was true, it wasn’t the reason he was late. Mathias had been speaking with Baros all night and the morning before this meeting.

“It is forgiven,” the king replied, gesturing for Shaw to take a seat before addressing the table. “I hope that while I was away, you’ve all come to an agreement on the budget plan.”

“Well, your majesty, we have yet to vote on it, but I do have a proposal.” Prestor spoke with an overly saccharine tone. “And it is one I think everyone will love.”

Guards would be spread thin around the outskirts of the kingdoms, taxes would be raised on the people, and most notable of all, the Stonemasons would have their agreed upon pay to be devastatingly slashed. Mathias stared at the wood grain of the table as Prestor made such an infuriatingly convincing argument that everyone was taken with.

"What are your thoughts, Shaw?" the king asked eventually.

Mathias looked up, all too aware of how many eyes were on him. With a turning stomach and a perfectly neutral presentation, he said, "I believe that Lady Prestor makes a compelling argument."

“Well then, all in favor?”

Mathias felt sick as the motion carried.

* * *

Mathias was in the crowd when it all kick-started, heart still desperately hoping that this would turn out for the better.

Ever since it was announced that the Stonemasons pay would be docked severely from its original amount, skirmishes were breaking out during the night around the city. Disgruntled Stonemasons turned enraged, and the tension in the air was suffocating. It was like a bowstring pulled taut, arrow nocked, waiting for the snap that would embed the arrow into its target.

To appease, to try to calm the situation down, the king and queen would be to make an appearance, a horrible, _stupid_ idea that Mathias voiced against and wasn't listened to. He was told that he just "didn't understand the power of an appearance of the crown." It was with that he was dismissed with, and it was with that that Mathias watched with horror as the crowd ignited with unbridled fury that late afternoon.

Edwin was there, somewhere, tangled too deep within the crowd for Mathias to find. Even on the outskirts, he felt far too exposed for his liking. Something in him wondered if Edwin did it on purpose, to place himself somewhere Mathias couldn't reach him, couldn't stop him from what he was about to do.

It happened all at once, yelling, screaming, curses thrown, then rocks. Fire. Mathias was powerless to stop it, as were the guards, they were outnumbered severely. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the chaos, trying to parse the situation and then think of what he could do. His grandmother always spoke about how they were in place to protect the people of Stormwind from the shadows, but when it was the people of Stormwind who were committing the violence, what could they do?

Mathias slipped into the shadows cast by the setting sun, trying to pick out a familiar face within the rioting crowd. _Think of something._

Vanessa. Edwin would go and fetch her with any hasty decisions made. He turned on his heels and hugged the edge of the walkways, hurrying through the canals to the outer edges of the cathedral district. Some of the chaos was beginning to spread out from the keep and into the canals; fights breaking out between guards and masons as they took their anger to targets they could reach. Mathias gave as wide of a berth he could to the madness.

The front door was unlocked, much to Mathias' surprise, and was greeted with Edwin on the other side of the room, baring a belt knife and standing defensively between Mathias and his daughter. A look of recognition flickered across Edwin's face, and relief followed quickly after. "Mathias," he breathed out, sheathing his knife back against his belt. "I'm so glad you're here."

"What's going on?" Mathias asked, raising his chin to him. "What's your plan here?"

"The plan?" Edwin asked. "This isn't really… planned, but it's… good."

"Good?" Mathias echoed.

"You saw them, they weren't listening to us. Now they won't be able to ignore us."

Mathias did not like the phrasing of that. "But they will be less inclined to give in if you're committing to violent methods.”

Edwin scoffed. “They would never give in. You saw how they were.”

“Then what’s the goal here?”

“To send a message.”

Mathias looked down, clasping his hands with worry. “The guards will come down hard on you,” he said. “Every Stonemason will be arrested.”

“I’m aware, and that’s why I’m running.”

“Running?” Mathias took a step forward. “Where?”

“Away from the city.” Edwin looked at Mathias, really looked at him, an openingly caring expression gracing his features. “Come with me.”

Mathias blinked, looking down. “I— I have… a job to do. You know that. I… I can’t…” he trailed off, confused. What the hell was Edwin doing?

“Fuck your job.” Mathias looked back up at Edwin, seeing the intensity of emotion across his face. “You never chose that job, and you can choose to leave it right now.”

With wide eyes, Mathias asked, "where's this coming from?"

"Where's this coming from?" Edwin echoed, parroting it back at Mathias with equal confusion as he started a slight pace around the living room. "Mathias, it's an open secret about this, about your family. Everyone knows your grandmother is a killer, that she groomed you, that your mother—"

"Stop," Mathias warned.

"Everyone knows that your mother was killed—"

"Don't speak about things you don't know of!" Mathias cut him off, harsher this time.

"Sure, I don't know the details, but everyone knows the rumors." Edwin came closer, and Mathias took a half-step back. "Everyone in Westfall talks about how your mother suddenly died, about what she said to others not long before her death."

Mathias' hands tightened into fists, fighting back emotion that threatened to boil over. "Stop mentioning her!"

"I don't want you to end up like her!" Edwin said, a pleading look across his face. "Your grandmother is going to get you killed, and I can't bear to see that happen. Please, come with me, Mathias."

Mathias felt as if a knife was pushed into his chest, resting in between his ribs and letting the blood trickle out from the crevices where the knife didn't fill. He was angry, hurt, shocked, afraid... he didn't even know how to respond to this. "This isn't like you."

"Mathias, you're the one that hides yourself. Hiding your accent, acting like a noble—"

"I don't—" he weakly protested, only to get interrupted.

"How much of yourself do you have to hide because of her?" Edwin came closer. "You don't have to do that, we can get you out of this."

Mathias felt small with Edwin in his space, felt small for the second time that month. He resisted the urge to unsheathe the daggers at his waist. "You're scaring me," he said, hoping that it would elicit something in Edwin, or at least get him to back up.

Edwin took Mathias' hands in his, which was not backing up. "I'm begging you, please, I can't bear the thought of you getting hurt because I didn't do enough to get you out of this."

His hands were warm and calloused. Mathias shook his head and pulled his hands from Edwin, trying to get away. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but I don't need _saving_ from my own life." He took a few steps back, towards the front door. "The queen is hurt, Edwin, she's hurt because of the riots you started."

Edwin was silent for a moment. "You won't defend us."

"I can't defend what you're doing when the Stonemasons have attacked their strongest supporter at those meetings," Mathias said. "You're reaching a point you can't come back from, Edwin. Don't do this."

"How can you defend them?" Edwin asked, his voice wavering with barely leashed emotion.

"I'm not—"

"They don't _care_ about people like you or me," Edwin interrupted with building rage. "Don't you understand that? We're just a means to an end for them, and you _defend_ them in that."

"Just because I don't care for the violence you're instigating doesn't mean I think they did the right thing," Mathias said, getting the words out as quick as he can. "There can be and there _is_ a middle ground to this."

"This was justified, and if you don't believe that, you're just as bad as them."

"Edwin," Mathias said, but anything else he had lined up after that never made it out as Edwin lunged for him. Instinct kicked in; he widened his stance and readied himself. There was a flash of something in Edwin's hand, and Mathias used Edwin's momentum to pull him through the motion, sidestepping it entirely. Edwin didn't let Mathias throw him around easily, and Mathias couldn't move his hand up quick enough to block Edwin's.

There was a flash of pain as Mathias guided Edwin's weight to the ground. Edwin turned, landing on his shoulder, and looked up at Mathias. With a step back, Mathias looked down to Edwin's hand to see his belt knife in it, now bloodied. It took Mathias a moment for his brain to make the connection.

He pressed a hand to the side of his neck, feeling an opening under his fingers, and he drew a sharp breath. Edwin tried to slash his throat. Edwin tried to kill him.

They were stuck in frozen silence, neither man moving. Mathias struggled to process what was happening, his thoughts racing yet stubbornly stationary. A sensible voice in him said he should kill Edwin here, kill him now and end this madness, but Mathias couldn't move. Could he even kill Edwin? This wasn't a mark, this was his childhood friend. This was a childhood friend and he tried to kill Mathias. He tried to kill Mathias. He tried to kill Mathias.

Edwin glanced away from Mathias, and Mathias followed his gaze to see Vanessa, small and afraid, hiding in the back as she watched them. Mathias glanced back to Edwin. Edwin's eyes were locked on Vanessa, deep in thought as he clearly weighed his options. With a suddenness, he scrambled to his feet, and Mathias' free hand went to a dagger at his waist, ready to defend himself properly this time. He never pulled it from his sheathe, however, as Edwin just rushed to Vanessa.

There was nothing to do but watch Edwin scoop Vanessa into his arms, a careful tenderness to the motion despite the speed at which he did it. He looked back at Mathias, and Mathias longed to say something, anything, to him. Something that would be meaningful parting words. But Mathias wasn't good at goodbyes, angry or bitter or sorrowful or anything.

Evidently, neither was Edwin. He threw one last look at Mathias, his face flurried with emotions, before he headed deeper into the home, no doubt to the back door in the kitchen.

Mathias stood there for longer than he would care to admit, gaping like a beached fish as blood dripped from his fingers, entirely alone. There were sounds of people yelling outside, but it was nothing but background noise to him at the moment.

Something jump-started in Mathias. He got moving.

* * *

Mathias jumped when the door was pushed open, a hand snapping to his dagger pommel as he looked over his shoulder. He relaxed at the sight of Baros, turning back to the table. "Please tell me you talked some sense into him," Baros said to his back.

Mathias let out a bitter laugh. He turned to Baros and removed his hand from his neck. "What do you think?"

Baros blanched. "Fucking Light..." he crossed over to Mathias. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I'd be dead already if I wasn't." He didn't know how the knife managed to miss his jugular, but he still stood. A blessing of the Light, some would say. Dumb luck, his grandmother will remark when she sees this. "Please tell me things on your end went better."

Baros sighed. He was in charge of de-escalating things within the guild the best he could. "It didn't go... as bad."

Mathias took a moment to think, placing his hand back to his neck. "How many people in the guild do you think would follow you instead of Edwin?"

"I don't know," Baros replied.

"Best guess."

"I don’t know,” he repeated with more force. “Why does it matter?"

"What if I could promise you that I could make sure that any Stonemason you list wouldn't be punished for the riots?"

Mathias watched Baros work through that sentence, turning it over in his head. "That'd be quite the thing to promise," he remarked. "Would that be something you could even do?"

"Yes. “ Confidence rang through both Mathias’ words and his heart. "I have strings I can pull. I just need the strings in place to pull them, and that requires your help.”

It was silent for a long moment. “How quickly do you need the list?”

“Tomorrow afternoon, at the latest.”

Baros sucked in a breath. “That quick?”

“Can you do it?”

“...yeah,” Baros eventually said, and then, stronger: “Yeah, I can do that. Especially if it keeps me out of the Stockades.” Baros reached a large, calloused hand to Mathias' wrist, pulling it away to examine the wound. "Light, what happened?"

Mathias looked down between them, his throat suddenly feeling as if there was something lodged in it. Probably unrelated to the wound. Mathias had never been slashed across the throat before, so he hoped it was unrelated. "He wanted me to leave Stormwind with him," Mathias explained as the knot in his throat got tighter. "I don't... I don't know what's gotten into him." He left out the nature of Edwin's request. "I said I wouldn't, and he—"

Mathias was wracked with a sudden sob, catching him off guard. Everything came crashing down as he was finally hit with the charging realization that his good friend, someone he _loved,_ tried to kill him. He brought a hand to his mouth, trying to stop the pitiful noises he was making as he came to grips with this. Baros had his other hand on Mathias' shoulder, gripping him firmly. "You're fine, just let it out," he said.

Mathias would very much like not to let it out, but it was out of his hands at that moment, so he just shook with every strangled breath he made as Baros held him.

* * *

"There is a lesson in this," Pathonia said as she inspected the wound. "You were very close to dying at the hands of an architect. And why?"

"I let my guard down.”

"And now you know why the rules are in place."

Mathias said nothing, feeling blood beginning to roll down his neck again, now that the bandage Baros had hastily stemmed the bleeding with was removed.

"You've done a foolish thing today," she continued.

"I know."

"When the king calls his next meeting, you must be there.”

Mathias straightened up in his chair, not entirely of his own volition, as his grandmother pushed his head back by the firm grip she had on his chin. "What would you have me do?"

"Be the voice of reason, de-escalate things. The last thing we need is a civil war in our city because the nobles are incapable of foresight."

Mathias had fixed his gaze on the wall behind his grandmother. "If there was to be a civil war, what side would we be on?"

Pathonia Shaw had careful, cautious fingers, as one would with decades in the business. That was how Mathias immediately knew it was nothing but deliberate when two fingertips pushed into his wound, making Mathias clench his teeth hard.

"You're too old for stupid questions," she said, her voice still with dangerous warning. Mathias said nothing in response, trying not to focus on the pain that bloomed from the action. He squeezed his eyes shut as his grandmother dragged her fingers from the wound. With clear disdain, she spoke, "patch yourself up."

"Yes, ma'am," Mathias said, forcing his voice steady.

Freemore was standing in the doorway, his expression masked as he watched them. He didn't want Mathias to know how he felt about this. _Or maybe Pathonia._ He surprised himself, the thought hitting him out of nowhere and rather abruptly.

His grandmother went to leave, pausing to say, "I hope you know what needs to be done, Mathias."

Mathias bowed his head, eyes fixing on the floorboards. "I do."

"Good."

There was the sound of footsteps away from the room, and Mathias' hand went to his wound. Blood flowed freely now. He wanted to cry again.

Someone crossed over towards Mathias, and he glanced up in time to see Freemore crouch down in front of him. "Let me get a look at it," he said, voice gruff.

Mathias, confused, gingerly moved his hand. Freemore peered, looking over it with a low whistle. "That's going to be a nasty scar." Mathias looked down at his hands, one soaked with blood, the other still stained, both shaking violently, as Freemore began to thread the needle. Silence bred between the two, and Mathias focused on trying to force his hands steady.

"You should wear this with pride," Freemore said to Mathias as he worked, almost offhandedly.

The words pulled Mathias from dark thoughts. "I should wear a betrayal with pride?"

"Who needs to know where it's from?” Freemore posited. "A scar across the neck lets people know that you don't go down easily. That you survived the worst. It intimidates those who are looking for an easy fight."

"Wouldn't my throat being slashed make me seem like an easy fight?"

"If you were an easy fight, you would be dead," Freemore pointed out.

Mathias didn't dare say that it wasn't much of a fight. With no response, he just stared at his shaking hands and let the silence grow once more. It lasted longer that time, stretching out until Freemore tied the stitching thread in a knot. "There you go," he said, giving Mathias a pat on the shoulder before standing. "Clean up and get to bed."

"Why did you help me?" Mathias asked before Freemore could leave, glancing up.

Freemore looked over to Mathias, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

"You heard what she said."

With that, Freemore gave a slight shake of his head. "I don't agree with everything the guildmaster does, and I think you're smart enough to not need to be beaten over the head with this." Mathias looked down again, his heart aching and stomach turning. "Wash up and get some sleep," he reiterated. "There's work to be done."

* * *

The war room would have been more calm if it was actually engulfed in flames.

"These fools won't stop until all of Stormwind burns!" One noble exclaimed, slamming his fists on the large table. "Something must be done!"

"Please," Lady Prestor said, making a dismissive gesture with her hand, "they're nothing but a few angry men. Let them throw their tantrum and we can move on to important matters."

"How long will it take for them to try leveling the keep?" Another noble piped up. "They clearly have no problems destroying everything else in the city."

"Enough!" The king yelled, loud enough to scare the nobles into silence. "These people have destroyed enough, and they will be punished to the full extent!"

"With all due respect, your majesty," Lady Prestor said, "these people are insignificant and hardly worth the effort. They're incapable of doing any lasting damage."

"You seem to forget what they did last night," Varian growled, anger barely restrained.

"A failure on the guards," she said, unfazed by his anger. "Had they been in control of the situation, it would have never happened." Katrana hazarded a glance towards Shaw, something dangerous lurking within her eyes. Shaw stared back at her, his own contempt barely under wraps. "I certainly didn't see anyone from the Assassins Guild helping the situation."

"I am sure that the news of assassins murdering citizens in the streets wouldn't paint the house in a favorable light," Mathias openly challenged.

For a brief moment, Lady Prestor was taken aback. She quickly recovered, however, saying, "Of course, but certainly we have the guild around for something more than just taking people out."

Shaw managed to bite down on both his temper and his tongue. "Actually, I do feel that I bring to this table something that no one else can." He glanced between the people that stood at this table with him, older men and women, dressed in fine silks and finer gems, the definition of decadence. "I know how the common folk think, I know how they act in groups, and I don't think anyone else here could say the same."

"Please, how hard could it be?" One remarked.

"I was here defending those trapped within the city while the orcs burned Stormwind to the ground," Shaw explained. "Those people felt abandoned by the crown, left to die with no help whatsoever."

"We were—"

"I'm not saying that they are right, my lord," Shaw cut off the noble that interrupted him. "I'm saying that this is what they believed, because they weren't proven wrong, and it was hard for them to garner sympathy for the crown's tough position when they were trapped in the catacombs, terrified of the possibility of an orc finding them."

A few nobles shuffled with discomfort at Shaw's words, which spurred him on. "If nothing is done to address the unrest, these people that are caught in the crossfire will start resenting you in the keep for not doing something."

"I hope you have an idea then, Shaw," King Varian said, "and didn't just come here to complain."

Shaw didn't take the king's words personally, the Light knew how poor his grasp on controlling his emotions was. Shaw raised his chin and clasped his hands behind his back. "I believe that the best course of action would be to clean house. Citizens will be less sympathetic to the Stonemasons' cause if you show you care for them; rebuild their homes, increase the guard presence, anything to let them know that they're not forgotten."

"I think you've forgotten, everyone who built this damn city is trying to tear it down."

"Not everyone, your majesty. Many of the Stonemasons aren't sympathetic with VanCleef's actions. Baros Alexston, VanCleef's right hand man during reconstruction, for instance, and I'm certain there are a fair amount of Stonemasons that are more inclined to follow him."

"And what makes you so certain that they would agree with such a task?" Lady Prestor pressed, an underlying venom to her words.

"These are good men, my lady. Fathers, brothers, uncles and sons. They don't want to wage war, they just want to put food on the table, and if you give them the option to do that, they will take it."

"Are you saying we should give in to their demands and pay them more?" A noble, shocked at even the implication of the action.

"That would be a good first step, yes," Shaw said with as much cultivated patience he could muster.

"They demanded extravagant sums—"

"That I am certain could be negotiated down now that half the guild has, for lack of a better way to phrase it, resigned from their positions." Shaw said.

"You speak with a lot of certainty, Shaw," the King said.

"It is the guild's job to know what is happening in Stormwind and who it is happening with.” Shaw looked right at Prestor. “You ask what my presence here can bring, and it brings my expertise regarding this city and those who live in it." Shaw looked back to the king. "I suggest that you speak with Alexston and negotiate something workable, and let your citizens know the crown hasn't turned their backs on them again."

"We haven't turned our backs on them," the king barked, defensive.

"I know, your majesty. _They_ don't. Let them know."

The king considered Shaw's words, and the rest of the nobles were silent. Katrana, unable to stay content with such a silence, held her eyes on Shaw as she poke. "I must ask, Shaw, what happened during those riots last night where you got such an injury?"

"From doing my job," Shaw said, matching the level of challenge in her voice. “Like I said, I’m here to bring my insight and the guild’s resources. I went out, talked with Stonemason, and found one that wasn’t inclined towards violence. Alexston is willing to talk, while VanCleef is beyond that point. I’m sure you’d agree with my assessment based on prior engagements, Lady Prestor.”

Katrana thinned her lips, watching Shaw with the eyes of a snake getting ready to strike. Weighing her options. “He was rather hostile, your majesty, but I can’t dare suggest that letting another Stonemason anywhere near the keep would be a good idea.”

“I can—”

“Enough, both of you,” the king snapped. Shaw pulled back with a tight nod while Prestor held back her scowl. “I will come to a decision myself; you’re all dismissed.”

* * *

There was a grand ceremony to commemorate the statue unveiling in the aptly named Valley of Heroes. Heroes of the Second War, lost to the orc homeland when the Dark Portal was destroyed, presumed dead. Shaw didn't care much for the big show of it all, but the ceremony was convenient. Shaw caught the sight of the blue and gold lined hoods, the ceremonial armor of elven rangers. The ranger general was here from Quel'thalas, her sister being one of those heroes, and if the ranger general was here, that meant—

Shaw's eyes fell on the hooded figure hanging in the back of the group of rangers, no pointed ears poking out of said hood. There he was. Shaw weaved his way through the crowd, ignoring the feeling of misplaced nausea as he did so, positioning himself in a spot where he could catch Nathanos' eye. Shaw watched him turn his head to the right, away from Shaw. Oh Light, he had little ear holes in his hood. That's hilarious. Nathanos turned back, looking around. He was tense, and seemed as uncomfortable as Shaw felt. 

Nathanos' eyes fell on Shaw. They held each other's gaze for a moment, before Nathanos broke away to glance towards the party of elves he was accompanying. Shaw watched him assess, look back to Shaw, and started backing up from the elves and into the crowd.

Shaw crossed through the crowd again, keeping his head down as he maneuvered his way to Nathanos. He had taken a spot closer to the city, resting against the wall with a forced casualness. "Nice hood," Shaw murmured as he joined Nathanos. "Couldn't get them to sew those closed for you?"

"Last minute request from the general herself," Nathanos muttered, clearly not pleased with the decision. "I was wondering if you'd look for me."

"Not terribly often you come to me."

"You flatter yourself."

"Coming to my city is coming to see me as much as me going to your neck of the woods is going to see you."

Nathanos watched the high elves, face screwed in careful contemplation. "There's necromancy in Lordaeron," he muttered, barely audible.

"What?" Mathias asked, matching his volume. He had heard reports of the orcs sacrificing people, but necromancy?

"I've been home more than in Silvermoon because of the panic," Nathanos explained. "Rumors of the dead rising up again. Large creatures made of stitched flesh."

"Are these rumors true?"

"I've seen some... disturbing corpses," was all Nathanos said.

Shaw watched the crowd as he tried to process the implications. Surely this couldn't be happening. The Kirin Tor would never allow necromancy to fester, and mages were always so high and mighty about what they thought was right and wrong. "How much of a threat do you think this poses?"

"I don't know," Nathanos replied truthfully. "I would have to see these risen corpses personally."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Nathanos sighed. "I needed to tell someone."

"You... haven't told the ranger general?"

"No, not yet. We've been preoccupied with traveling here."

Interesting. Nathanos confided in Shaw before Sylvanas Windrunner, the one who was constantly standing up for Nathanos. Even with the excuse, the implication was interesting. "What do you want for it?"

Nathanos shrugged. "Free of charge."

No, that wouldn't do. Shaw looked for him today for a reason. He needed something, someone, to get his mind off of... recent events. Nathanos could do that easily. "What if I'm interested in... reciprocating the good will?"

"It's fine, Shaw, you don't have—"

"Forget the damn pretense of favors, Marris," Shaw spat under his breath. "Something no-strings-attached, one night, before you rangers leave in the morning. Yes or no?"

Nathanos looked to Shaw with that, surprise splayed across his face. He looked back to the elves. "I really should keep an eye on them," he said.

"They're millennia old, and can't survive a human city for a night?" Shaw asked, trying to convey a teasing tone.

Nathanos grinned. "I don't think you realize how out of their element they are here."

"All the more reason, in my opinion."

Shaw watched Nathanos shake slightly beside him, Shaw having to take a moment to recognize that the man was stifling laughter. "I'll… consider it.”

One of the high elves seemed to notice Nathanos’ absence, sharp eyes glancing around. Shaw took a half-step back, letting the shadows of the nearby statue hide his features. “Who’s that?”

“Another Ranger Lord,” Nathanos said. “He doesn’t like me.” The high elf’s eyes find them, settling on Nathanos with clear distaste in his expression, so much so that his ears tilted back. Another ranger took notice and looked over to him, and then to Shaw and Nathanos. “You know what, I’m done considering. Where can I find you?”

* * *

It was a day Shaw was training for for a very long time. He should have been excited, but at this point, he was just underwhelmed by it all. All of his grandmother’s stuff was cleared out of the office, leaving a barren room with nothing more than a desk and a chair. He leaned against the edge of the desk, back to the door, as he took all of this end. This had been a long time coming, and now that it was here, Shaw just felt hollow. 

A knock was on the door, and Shaw turned in time to see Freemore come through. “I see you’re in the middle of decorating,” he said with a grin.

Shaw noted the letter in one hand as Freemore closed the door behind him, the parchment tinged yellow with age. “Yes,” Shaw said absently. “What’s that?”

“A birthday present.”

Shaw raised an eyebrow. “I’m a bit old for birthday presents.”

Freemore scoffed as he crossed to the desk. “Just because your grandmother has an aversion to that sort of thing doesn’t mean you have to.” He handed it over to Shaw. “Been holding onto this for a while for you.”

Shaw took the unsealed letter, flipping it open. It took a moment for him to recognize that it was directions to somewhere, written in a hand that definitely wasn’t Freemore’s. “What is this?”

“It supposedly leads to a cabin out in the highlands. It was your mother’s.”

Shaw looked up to Freemore. The hollowness in him was filled with… anger? Grief? He couldn’t even tell. “Why are you giving me this now?”

“It was her home away from it all or something, I suppose. I knew of it just in case something happened, and she had me promise that Pathonia would never find out about it,” Freemore said, “and I keep my promises, which meant I couldn’t tell you about it until I was sure she wouldn’t be in a position to hear it.”

Shaw dipped his head down to the paper. Freemore always offered kindness, even if he was rather aloof with it, and Shaw could never piece together why. “Thank you,” he said, folding up the paper and tucking it into the pocket close to his chest.

“I should say that I don’t know if it still stands,” Freemore said. “It’s been close to three decades since your mother gave me that, but I thought if anyone should have it, it should be you.”

What would be waiting for Shaw there?

Freemore must have noticed Shaw’s dip in mood, as he clasped his hands together. “Well, congratulations on the promotion, Spymaster.” He turned to leave, heading to the door.

Shaw looked up again. “If I were to ask you something, can I expect that it won’t leave this room?”

The older man turned to look over his shoulder at that. Shaw watched his face carefully as Freemore did the same. “I haven’t made it this far in my job with loose lips.”

“I mean it. I want this to stay between you and me.”

Freemore looked a little worried at that. “What is it?”

Now or never. “What actually happened to my mother?”

* * *

A small, run down cabin, surrounded by a fence in an equal state of disrepair. No visitors for a while, then. As he stared out at the cabin from the dirt road, Shaw found that he didn’t want to get off his horse and dare forward. All his nerves about several different things in his life were coalescing into making him incredibly high-strung. The horse noticed Shaw’s energy, making a noise of complaint and shifting with a similar anxiety. He gave the horse a gentle shush before climbing off.

Uncharacteristically unsteady hands made the effort of lashing the reins of the horse to a fence post take entirely too long, filling Shaw with more dread. He took a mental step back; he was nervous over, what? An empty house?

 _The possibility of it not being empty,_ the cold answer was.

Now or never. He trekked up the slight hill, long grass reaching up to his knees, such a distantly familiar feeling that it was almost nostalgic. The porch was half rotted through, and Shaw was careful in his steps as he reached the door. He was given no key, so when he tried the door and found it locked, he found the most secure plank to rest on to pick the lock.

The door creaked on its hinges when Shaw pushed it open, groaning in complaint at the sudden movement. He peered in, and something inside him was both relieved and disappointed that it was just a cabin, nothing out of the ordinary. He took a deep breath, enough dust filling his lungs to make him regret it the next instant, and examined what he had. A bed wedged against the wall in the corner, a fireplace, a table and a couple chairs that looked older than Shaw, a dresser and cabinets, a wood stove, a basin, and a full length mirror.

First things first. He propped open the door and threw all the windows open in an attempt to air out the place. He placed his pack down next to the bed and looked around. Dusk was far off, so a fire wouldn’t be necessary anytime soon, but he’d have to procure more firewood, judging from the small pile gathered by the fireplace. He stripped the bed of its blankets and dragged them outside. They smelled like old, dusty linens; a little disappointing but par for what he should have expected. He ran the blankets across the sturdier parts of the fence before heading back inside.

For curiosity’s sake, he checked under the bed for anything of interest, followed by checking all the floorboards for any loose ones. The dresser drawers were mostly empty; a couple extra blankets that Shaw set out with the rest, but that was it. The cabinets were also empty of anything save for a layer of dust, a mild relief, as Shaw was not looking forward to cleaning out anything that had rotted through the shelves. 

Shaw’s attention was caught by the full length mirror, crossing over to it. It was chipped in one corner and was resting against the wall, but the most notable thing about it was the small note taped to the mirror. _Ask her about M._ He stared at the note, longer than what was strictly necessary to read such a short note, unable to tear his gaze away.

There was so much he didn’t know about this woman, about someone that he was supposed to know, that everyone else seemed to know. A sudden bitterness crawled through him with that, and he pulled the note from the mirror and tossed it on the table. The feeling filled his chest, causing an ache from within in his ribs. With a deep sigh, he rubbed his face with his hands. He was getting emotional over a woman he didn’t even know, and that was ridiculous, regardless if she was his mother or not.

He allowed himself to wallow just a bit longer before gathering himself up, shoving any overly emotional feelings he had, and set himself on cleaning up.

* * *

Shaw's paranoia had been running rampant lately, and it seemed that there was little he could to to quell it. He felt something was imminent, and while he had relied on his paranoia to help guide his choices, this was bordering on ridiculous. It had been weeks, and it was starting to seriously impede his sleeping habits.

During this period, Shaw had taken to pacing around the keep during the night. If it was to remind himself that the keep was secured and nothing hid in the shadows of the halls, or if it was more of an outlet for his nervous energy, he couldn't be sure anymore. He looped the halls with a near manic energy, the thought of him collapsing from the eventual exhaustion rushing around the keep crossing his mind, both a hopeful promise and a begrudging eventuality.

Shaw gripped the back of his neck and rubbed at it with a rough force as he turned the corner. Nights were long as is nowadays, he couldn't be spending it running around the keep like a madman in the hopes of it making him fall asleep. But yet, with little other choice, he walked the halls with a fervor. Shaw realized, rather belatedly, that he managed to make his way towards the side of the keep the personal quarters were at. It seemed that even his subconscious mind wanted some shut eye.

As he passed the prince's quarters, Shaw glanced over, eyes falling on a stationed guard that straightened up under Shaw's gaze. He nodded in acknowledgement, and Shaw nodded back.

Shaw stopped when there was a scream from inside his highness' room, looking back to the guard, who seemed less than concerned. "He's been having nightmares," he explained. "You can go in and confirm yourself, if you'd like, sir," he continued when Shaw only raised an eyebrow in response.

Shaw was sure the guard stationed outside Prince Anduin's door every night was telling the truth, and it'd be no stretch of the imagination that the prince suffered from frequent nightmares to begin with, but Shaw knew his paranoia would not allow him to sleep tonight if he didn't confirm it himself. He crossed the hall to the door, opening it and peering inside.

Tall windows that stretched to the ceiling let in moonlight, offering a dim light to the room. In the lowlight, Shaw could see the head that poked out from underneath the covers, looking to see who was entering the room. "Your highness?" Shaw asked.

There was a tearful sniffle. "Yes?"

Light, Shaw wasn't equipped for this. Maybe he should go fetch the Highlord, he'd be better suited for such a situation. He was already in here, however, so Shaw entered the room, closing the door behind him instead. "Is everything all right?"

Anduin gave a slight nod. "Just nightmares."

Shaw didn't really know how to respond to that. He was unfit to console a child. "Would you like me to fetch someone?"

"No," Anduin said. " 'm fine."

Well, no one could say Shaw didn't try. With no threat, Shaw didn't need to be here, and he gave a respectful nod before turning to the door. "Just making sure you are okay. Have a good night, your highness."

"Do you get nightmares, Master Shaw?" Anduin asked before Shaw made his way out the door.

Shaw hesitated, looking over his shoulder to where the young prince was. "I believe everyone gets nightmares from time to time, your highness."

"What are yours about, if I can ask?" Anduin seemed small in his large bed, looking as if he was drowning in his bed-sheets.

"Mistakes I've made."

"Oh," Anduin said, and then, "I dream of frightening things, like people dying."

Shaw looked down, running that statement through his head. A tragedy, that such topics concerned someone so young. Shaw was reminded that the same happened with him. "Sometimes I dream of things like that too."

"How do you make yourself feel better after something like that?"

"I remind myself that they're just dreams, and that my job is making sure something like that doesn't happen," Shaw answered. He should say something reassuring, like how everyone within the keep wouldn't be passing anytime soon, but it felt like a lie on his tongue, so he bit it back.

Anduin seemed to consider this, sitting in silence. Shaw turned back to the door with that, putting a handle on the door and pausing. Something was wrong. "Get up," Shaw ordered, voice low. "In the wardrobe."

"Master Shaw?" Anduin sounded frightened.

"Quickly," Shaw said, a snap to his voice. It was enough to get Anduin out of bed and cross the room, pulling open the door of his wardrobe and climbing in. Shaw took his place on the other side of the door, holding his daggers and his breath as the wardrobe door was pulled close behind Anduin. A beat of silence, then two. Then the door of Anduin's room was pushed open.

"Alright, where are you?" Someone muttered as they entered, taking a step into the room. As soon as Shaw could see their form, a person cloaked in dark leathers and a hood, he lunged. The only sound they made was a choking sound as Shaw slashed a dagger across their throat, pushing them to the ground. He distantly watched them writhe on the ground, choking on their blood, before ultimately stilling. Shaw stepped over the body, glancing out into the hallway.

The guard was on the ground, but other than that, the hallway was empty. Shaw didn't bother to check on the guard, not when there was a more pressing matter at hand. He turned back into the room, crossing over and opening the wardrobe, and getting surprised by a knife being jabbed in his direction. Shaw gently grasped the small wrist, stopping Anduin from hurting either of them.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" Anduin's apology was immediate, pulling the knife back close to him as Shaw let go of him.

"I should have announced myself," Shaw admitted. He weighed his options for a moment, before deciding upon the safest option. "Sheathe the knife and hold onto it." Shaw watched the young prince push the hunting knife into its sheath with shaking hands, and felt obligated to say something reassuring. "We're going to get you to somewhere safe, don't worry."

Shaw pulled the prince from the wardrobe, heaving him up into Shaw's arms. Anduin was trembling, eyes fixated on the assailant on the ground as Shaw moved to the door. "Stay quiet," Shaw ordered, being mindful of his tone. The two moved through the hallway, Shaw moving with the utmost care as to not make a noise. There were sounds of a fight somewhere else in the keep. Anduin clung close to Shaw.

They passed the Highlord's room, a guard with a slashed throat and glazed over eyes laying before the door, acting as a warning. Shaw doesn't hesitate in pushing the door open, finding immediate relief at the room being empty and tidy. Fordragon hadn't retired for the night yet. The war room, then, across the damn keep.

With as much speed he could muster, Shaw rushed through the keep, ducking through side hallways in hopes of avoiding any of the assailants. His arms ached with Anduin’s weight, but he didn’t dare slow down.

There was noise ahead, and Shaw hugged the wall, letting the shadows cover the two as he quietly shushed the prince. Another moment, and a cloaked figure rushed past them, not even sparing a glance in their direction. Shaw held against the wall, watching them leave the hall and waiting a few more seconds after that.

“I’m scared,” Anduin whispered as Shaw shifted him in his arms.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Shaw assured, and they kept going.

The war room was almost like a sanctuary, guards standing ready for anyone unwanted to try and enter. Bolvar and Varian, armed with broadswords, stood just past them, and Lady Prestor farther in the room. “Shaw!” Bolvar exclaimed as he saw him.

“Anduin,” King Varian gasped with relief. The guards let Shaw through and he set Anduin down as soon as they passed the threshold into the room. Anduin immediately ran to his father, and King Varian took up his son into his arms. “You have fantastic timing, Shaw.”

“Uncanny, even,” Prestor piped up. Bolvar turned to shoot her a withering look.

“I was simply at the right place at the right time,” Shaw said. Anduin looked back at him from where he clung to King Varian. “I’ll have my agents weed out the rest of the intruders and figure out who they’re working for.”

King Varian nodded. “Then get going.”

Shaw looked down to the prince, and Anduin hid his face.

* * *

Shaw placed the file on his desk and closed the cabinet—a custom gift from Baros for his birthday, able of carefully keeping files organized, visible, and accessible. Shaw was surprised Baros could make furniture. Baros clarified that one of the Stonemasons had a brother that was a carpenter. _I couldn’t think of anything you’d appreciate more than a way to organize paperwork._ Shaw had more ordered less than a week later.

“I’m giving you the Defias case,” he said, not looking up at Kearnen. “With the influx of adventurers, I’ll send someone capable your way to assist. Do what you can to take care of the situation.”

“Define… take care of the situation,” Kearnen said.

“Use your best judgement,” Shaw said. Kearnen lingered at his desk, and he bit back his sigh. “What?”

“It’s been nearly ten years since that file has been touched,” Kearnen said. “Why now?”

“I want this to be taken care of,” Shaw said. “So take care of it.”

“Master Shaw—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Kearnen.”

“Mathias,” Kearnen tried again. That time, Shaw did sigh. He turned to face her. There was grief in her expression, sympathy of loss, and Shaw did not care for it in the slightest.

“There was an attempt on Alexston’s life, done at Defias’ hands,” Shaw said, voice quiet. “If VanCleef is brave enough to do something like that, to actually send someone to Stormwind with the intention of killing the chief architect of the kingdom, then he needs to be taken care of.”

There could have been a good question in ethics asked; if Shaw had been delaying the death of someone who was close to him until he himself was affected. Shaw didn’t think he could give a convincing defense against such a question. The question hung over him like a weight around his neck, weighing him down.

“I don’t blame you,” she murmured, referring to the unsaid question. “For the record.”

“It’s unprofessional.”

“It is,” she said. “But many would do the same in your situation.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Shaw growled out.

“You don’t have to be the person your grandmother tried to make you into.”

That struck one nerve to close. Shaw turned away. “You have your assignment, Kearnen.”

Kearnen nodded, taking the dismissal. She picked the file up from the desk and held it close. “I’ll handle it.”

* * *

The office door opened, and Shaw looked up, seeing Baros. “I’m guessing you got the news, then,” Shaw said.

“I did,” he said. Then, he raised up a bottle of something that was certainly alcoholic. “When are you done for the night?”

Technically, it should have been a long night for him; there was always a lot of paperwork when outsourcing to adventurers, but Shaw had just spent who knew how long sitting at his desk and staring at nothing, so it was unlikely any of that would be done tonight. He stood from his chair and stretched. “My place or yours?”

“Yours is closer.”

Jammed into the small hole in the wall Shaw called home, the two sat at the tiny little thing Shaw called a kitchen table. Baros popped open the bottle and poured its contents in the two glasses Shaw supplied. It took only a moment for the strong smell of liquor to his Shaw’s nose. “What is that?”

“This,” Baros said, “is going to do its job and get us drunk.”

Shaw looked at the glass pushed his direction. “I have an early morning, you know.”

“Then don’t drink, teetotaler.” Baros took a drink, and seemed to immediately regret it from the grimace he gave. Shaw already knew he was going to hate himself in the morning, alcohol or otherwise, so he took a swig of his own drink. It burned the entire way down, and Shaw shook his head with a cough.

“Light,” he gasped. “That’s wretched.”

“It gets the job done.”

“It better, if it tastes like that.”

They sat in silence that stretched far too long after that, neither man wanting to address the gravity of the day. Baros let out a heavy sigh before looking at Shaw. “This was a necessary thing.”

“It was.”

There was only silence for a beat. Then another. “You look as if you’re trying to figure out the secrets of the universe,” Baros piped up.

“I just…” Shaw stopped himself, trying to figure out how to word his abstract thoughts. “I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“There were… plans. The Defias were planning on sieging Stormwind by sea. They had an orcish juggernaught for it, too.” Shaw ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I just— ten years, and he only became more sure that this was the right course of action. I don’t get it, this wasn’t him.”

“He’s a different man, now,” Baros mused. “Or, was, I suppose.”

Edwin VanCleef was dead. He could say that to himself over and over and over and it would never get less strange. He had been gone from Shaw’s life for a while now, but dead? It seemed… inconceivable.

“I just want to know why he went this far,” Shaw said, taking a drink only to wish he didn’t. He swallowed it down as quickly as he could.

Baros took on a strange look at Shaw’s words. “No point in asking yourself that.”

Shaw frowned. “I mean, in the grand scheme of things, perhaps not, but—”

“No,” Baros interrupted. “That’s not what I meant.” Silence bloomed again. Shaw looked at Baros expectantly, waiting for him to speak again. He was transfixed on Shaw’s desk in the back corner, perhaps something on it, though Shaw couldn’t divine what. “You remember when all three of us were crammed up in the farm loft one night in summer, and we spent the night telling ghost stories?”

Shaw couldn’t say he did. It sounded familiar, sure, but there were a lot of childhood memories that he couldn’t manage to hold onto. Baros didn’t wait for him to respond. “I remember Edwin saying some… dumb story about dead miners, and you hit him, calling him an idiot for thinking that mining ore was enough to keep a soul on Azeroth or something.” Baros gave a slight chuckle, reminiscing with fondness. “That’s neither here nor there, though.

“You explained one of the ghost stories,” Baros continued. “I wish I could remember what it was, but you explained that it was just some trick of the torchlight against the minerals in the rock—” Baros’ eyes found Shaw’s. “—and I very distinctly remember the thought of, well, now there’s no point in telling the story.”

“What’s this about?”

“I think… people are like ghost stories.” Baros leaned forward, resting his weight onto the table. “Everyone is living their own story with their own motivations, and the moment you sit down and explain the ghost story, well, then the magic and mystery of the story would be done with, and what’s the point in telling a ghost story if there’s no magic and mystery to it?”

Shaw sat with that, letting it simmer. Baros took the silence as a chance to continue. “I mean, even in the more practical sense, would you want to understand that? Would you want to understand what drove a man into wanting to destroy Stormwind?” Baros paused. “Besides, the answer is probably a simple one, and I think that’s worse.”

“I didn’t know you took up philosophy in your spare time,” Shaw said.

Baros gave a slight nod. “Drinking time is thinking time.” There was a pause. “Light, that makes me sound like an alcoholic.”

“I have news for you,” Shaw grinned.

Baros exhaled a laugh. “If I was an alcoholic, I probably wouldn’t be able to hold down a government position.”

“You’d be surprised how many in the castle drink too much.”

Baros thought on that before saying, “no, I don’t think I would.” Shaw shook slightly with his own laughter at that. Baros sat up, raising his glass halfway across the table. “To the man we knew, who died in the riots a decade ago.”

The phrasing caught on something in Shaw’s mind. With less enthusiasm than Baros, he met him halfway, their glasses clinking against each other.

Part of Shaw died in those riots, too.

* * *

In terms of the Kul Tirans, Lady Jaina Proudmoore was a rather short one, which meant she was _just_ a good bit taller than Shaw, and Shaw was definitely not bothered by that.

“Master Shaw,” she called out from behind Shaw, and he turned to see her, keeping a tight hold on the several reports in his arms. He wasn’t aware that she was visiting the Keep today, or even that she arrived.

“Lady Proudmoore,” Shaw greeted, giving a nod in lieu of a proper bow. “What can I help you with?” They had met before; she was around his age, with bright eyes that held a certain amount of hauntedness behind it. If his agents’ reports were to be believed, it was well warranted. Now, however, there was worry in those eyes. It was enough to make Shaw pause. 

“May I speak with you on something?” she asked, lowering her voice as she got closer.

“Of course.”

Lady Jaina stood close to Shaw, holding her staff in a firm grip and glancing around the hallway. Save for a few guards at the other end, it was just them. “What do you know of the Defias Brotherhood?”

Shaw frowned. “A handful of adventurers killed their leader and top lieutenants not too long ago. Why?”

Lady Jaina looked around again before lowering her voice to barely a whisper. “They were the ones that took the king.”

Shaw raised an eyebrow with disbelief. “What?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“Was there anything your agents found to provide evidence to that?”

Shaw thought for a moment. Other than the juggernaught, there was nothing of note. “No, not at all. Are you certain?”

“I wouldn’t have come out here otherwise,” she said.

“There wasn’t any sign that they were holding someone,” Shaw said. “If they are, it isn’t at the Deadmines.”

“I don’t think they’re holding him anymore,” she said with a sigh. “I believe—and this is just a hunch—that someone hired them to do it.”

The implications of that were… not good. Shaw mentally picked through the sentence and all details required to make it true. “He was taken en route to a secret meeting,” Shaw said. “That means—”

“Someone inside the keep did it,” she finished for Shaw.

Disastrous implications. His eyes flicked to her’s. “Have you told the Highlord about it?”

“No,” she replied, “I’m… hesitant to do so.”

“Your mistrust goes that far?”

“I…” she shifted nervously, looking over her shoulder, “I want to play it safe. Until I’m sure of who it is, I want to keep this quiet.”

She trusted Shaw over anyone else in the keep. Interesting. There were a plethora of reasons as to why; perhaps his position bought it, or perhaps it was just a simple matter of elimination, that Shaw was so unlikely a candidate to be the culprit that it wasn’t even worth entertaining. He shifted the papers in his arms. Either way, it worked in his favor; there was no such thing as too much learned information in his line of work. “I can lend you some agents, if you wish.”

“No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” she said. “But if you do find any information from the Defias around here, as well as any… other information that may help, I’d appreciate staying in the loop.”

Shaw knew the nature of the latter request; if he found any information leading to someone within the keep. They had to be very careful if they hadn’t raised the attention of any of the spies that mulled around, hidden in plain sight. “I’ll see what I can do,” Shaw said.

Lady Jaina gave a nod, and then straightened up to her full height. She cradled her staff in the crook of her elbow as she began to channel a spell. “I must return to Theramore; have a good day, Master Shaw.”

Shaw took a cautious three steps back. “You as well, Lady Proudmoore.”

In a flash of arcane energy that lit up the hall, she was gone, and Shaw was left with many questions that no one living could answer.

* * *

The cathedral's bell just rang eleven times as he made his way through the Cathedral district. It was quiet at this hour, unlike the hustle of the Dwarven and Trade districts, which never seemed to die down. He took the side alley past the City Hall, and knocked on the first door to the left. He waited on the front stoop for a moment.

The door opened, and Shaw was greeted with Baros' amiable face. "Mathias," he greeted. Shaw held up the vintage in his hand, and Baros' eyes widened a bit. "Where'd you get that?"

"Work. Can I come in?"

Baros fixed Mathias with a strange look before opening the door to him.

"How expensive is that?" Baros asked from the kitchen, looking for glasses for them.

"Do you want to drink it or not?" Shaw asked, standing at the table. He raised his arms above his head and stretched, feeling the cracking of his joints.

"I do, I just don't think I have anything nice enough for it."

"Well, let's just say it's not expensive enough to be missed from the keep, but it is probably the most expensive thing you'll drink in your lifetime."

"In that case, if we don't finish it off, I'm keeping it." Baros came out from the kitchen, putting down two glasses on the table. He took the bottle from off the table and gave it a look over, reading the label. "You know it's good when it's dated in the King's calendar." Shaw pulled out a chair and sat down as Baros pried the bottle open, pouring the fine wine into the glasses. "What are we celebrating today?" he asked as he handed Shaw one glass.

"The death of Lady Katrana Prestor," Shaw said.

Baros took on a bizarre expression, blinking as the words registered with him and trying to figure out how that related to what they were doing. "It’s not the most virtuous act to celebrate the death of someone, don't you think?"

"Lady Katrana Prestor was the biggest advocate against paying the Stonemasons," Shaw explained.

"Ah, well, then it _is_ a celebration. How'd it happen?"

"She turned out to be a black dragon, kidnapped the prince, and the king killed her."

Baros put down his glass and stared at Shaw.

"The guard are currently trying to hang her head over the gates if you don't believe me," he shrugged.

"No, I believe you," Baros said, the words slowly working out of him. "And I think that's what makes it worse."

Shaw shook slightly with laughter, lifting up his glass towards Baros. They knocked glasses and drank, sitting in silence for a while after that. "What does that mean," Baros broke the silence with, angling his seat to put his feet up on the table. "The fact that she was a dragon?"

"She was disguised as a human."

"No, no, I get that, what does it mean, though?"

Shaw swirled the wine in his glass. "She was using magical means to manipulate the court in her favor; mind control, or a subtle form of it. She was in attendance for every meeting, including those with the Stonemasons."

Baros' gaze was fixed on nothing in particular in the middle distance. "She..." he stopped. "So when the Stonemasons were acting off after a meeting...?"

"It was her," Shaw confirmed. "She wanted the riots to happen, and I think she wanted the queen dead too."

Baros opened his mouth, but nothing came out, so instead they sat in the relative quiet. There was the ticking of a clock from somewhere in the house. Shaw was reminded of the time that the three of them were all over at Baros'. Edwin playfully chided Baros over owning a clock when the loud bells of the cathedral could be heard from all the way in Old Town. Baros had glared at him. _It's a family heirloom, idiot._

_You say that like your parents aren't still alive._

_It can still be an heirloom,_ Mathias had pointed out from where he was curled up on the couch.

_There isn't a point to having it, though._

_t's important to me._

_It's a clock._

_In the literal sense, sure. But it means more than that to me._

The clock ticked in its steady rhythm. Time marches on. Those three were nothing but ghosts now. "I should have done more to stop that from happening," Shaw muttered, egged on by the memory.

"She was a dragon, Matt," Baros said. "She would have... I don't know, eaten you or something."

Another memory sparked, one that had Shaw fighting down the shame that burned at his core. He resisted the urge to hide himself. _Nothing but ghosts now._ "I could have tried harder. I knew something was off and I relented at the first sign of resistance."

Baros pulled his legs off the table, slamming his feet down with the chair legs and exclaiming, "she was a Light-damn dragon!"

Shaw looked over, surprised by Baros' outburst. "I didn't know that at the time."

"Okay, sure," Baros said, putting his glass down and leaning over the table. "She was still one of the most powerful nobles in the house, what could you realistically have done?"

 _More._ Shaw looked down at his wine. He couldn't say that, of course, so he opted for nothing.

Baros took the silence as an invitation to continue. "You can't blame yourself on acting to the best of your ability at the time."

"Easy for you to say." The words left Shaw's mouth before he had the chance to taste them. They were cowardly words, ones that he regretted immediately.

Baros scoffed. "You're not the only one carrying this _grand_ burden that's the past. You may act like you are sometimes, but you're not. I get it, maybe it's because of your job, or your grandmother—" his voice softened for a beat. "—or your mother." Shaw clutched his glass tighter. "I don't know. But in case you haven't noticed, my position was bought with blood, just like yours. Different means, yes, but it's still red and stains the hands all the same."

"You didn't kill anyone."

A disbelieving frown fixed itself across Baros' face. "I wrote their death sentences all the same. I could have been louder, been more insistent that something was wrong, and I didn't. I waited like a scared child for you to come back because I didn't trust my intuition enough to make the first move, and again I waited for mercenary adventurers to do the same." He paused to let out a sigh, and then, in a much quiet voice, one that was heavy with sorrow: "I could have gone with them."

Shaw looked over again. Baros had taken his glass again, lost in memory, haunted by ghosts Shaw couldn't see. "Why didn't you?" he asked.

Baros gave a hint of a chuckle, as if the memory was almost humorous in hindsight. "Other than the fact that I thought they'd all gone mad? Half of me was afraid that you'd come for us both personally," he said, voice pitched low, as if he'd be killed for the information. "The other half of me was terrified that you'd come with."

Shaw straightened up with that. "What?"

"You're a smart man. Good at analyzing, intelligent on many fronts, always thinking several steps ahead." His face was fond with nostalgia. "But that always fell away with him, y'know."

"Baros," Shaw warned.

"You always had a look in your eyes that said you'd move mountains for him if you could, and I think if your grandmother wasn't keeping you on track, you would have." He took a drink of his wine. "My mother said something to me, when I told her you were still kicking around. She said, keep an eye on Mathias. He's just like his mother, and he's going to get into something too deep, too quickly, just like her.

"I didn't know what she meant at the time, and I don't really know when I realized it, but at some point I understood."

Many things fell into place then. Hostile looks between Baros and Edwin while he and Shaw were together, the conversation he overheard when Baros first found out about them. “You…” Shaw trailed off, struggling to find the correct words. “You thought you were protecting me from Edwin?”

"You say that like it's a bad thing, to try and protect someone you care about," Baros said, almost mournfully, then he shook his head. "And it's not like I thought you needed protection, I just..." he sighed and rubbed at his face, searching for words he never found.

"You don't know what it's like," Shaw murmured to his cup.

Baros took his time to respond to that. "To… try and protect someone?” he asked, confusion evident.

"To be constantly compared to someone you barely even know." Shaw took a long drink of his wine, trying to ignore Baros' eyes on him. "You said once, that everyone is just a ghost story. Sometimes I think that's all people see me as, but it's of hers, not mine."

(The story of a ghost that was gone without a word, only a son to take her place.)

"Well, lucky for you," Baros said, "the amount of people that know that story grows fewer everyday." Shaw looked over in time to see Baros hold out his nearly empty glass across the table. "To moving forward."

Shaw met him halfway, and their glasses clinked with mutual agreement.

* * *

Shaw didn’t try to hide himself as he watched them.

Varian had touted Valeera around, how with her, Anduin had stopped shirking his combat training lessons, at least somewhat. It had been a long-standing issue with Anduin, and while he still managed to avoid the bulk of his marital lessons, he had taken a few from Valeera.

He stood at the door of the sparring room, watching the fair-haired blood elf give the prince instruction on knife throwing. Anduin threw a knife, form clumsy and overextended, and the knife barely embedded itself into the target, hanging onto it by a thread as it wobbled from the force.

“That’s in the target,” Anduin pointed out, voice high with excitement.

“Hey, I’m counting it,” Valeera said, smiling wide as she turned to Anduin. The motion put Shaw in her peripherals, and she looked over, her smile fading as she did.

Anduin followed her gaze. “Hello, Master Shaw,” he said, all pleasantries and politeness now.

“Your highness,” Shaw bowed. “Your father has requested you. He’s in his study.”

Anduin nodded and immediately took his leave, moving past Shaw as he continued to stand by the door. With Anduin’s back to her, Valeera glowered at Shaw, and Shaw kept her gaze with a level stare.

She waited for Anduin to be a good distance away before speaking. “Come to threaten me, Shaw?”

Shaw drew his eyebrows together, mildly amused. “Why would I do that?”

“I know types like you,” she said. “I—”

“Let me stop you right there,” Shaw interrupted, not in the mood for whatever juvenile angst this was. “I don’t care about the fact that you’re here.”

Valeera narrowed her green eyes, alight with fel magic. “You don’t?”

“You’re here with the King’s blessing. If he puts that much trust in you, then so be it.”

“Well... that’s not the most... welcoming thing to say, but that’s better than most I’ve heard,” Valeera said. She deflated a bit, clearly expecting a fight. While Shaw had his suspicions, Varian spoke highly of her, and Shaw knew that wouldn’t be an argument he’d win. Besides, anything that annoyed the House of Nobles couldn’t be that bad, in Shaw’s book.

“I remember when I first started in the keep,” Shaw said. “The House can be a bit…”

“Jackass-ish?”

Shaw frowned. “Not the word I would use.”

“Is it wrong?”

“I won’t comment on that.” Shaw headed back out the doorway, looking back at her. “Make no mistake, I will be keeping an eye on you, but at the end of the day, I keep an eye on everyone.”

* * *

“You asked for me, your majesty?” Shaw asked as he entered the study.

“I did. Close the door,” King Varian said, and Shaw didn’t hesitate. The king’s posture was rigid with stress, shoulders locked up. This could be a bad conversation. “Can I ask for your opinion?”

“Always,” Shaw said, but the context made him brace for something that was outside of his wheelhouse. It was late into the night, and no question asked at this hour would be good for Shaw’s sake. He glanced down at the desk that stood in the room, seeing nothing that would give Shaw a hint as to what to expect from this.

“Do you have children, Shaw?”

Oh. A talk about the prince. Not the most out there, but certainly not Shaw’s wheelhouse past any information on file. “I do not.”

King Varian gave an abrasive hum of acknowledgement to that, if one could ascribe such a word to a hum. If one could, then it would have to be under a specific set of circumstances, one in which the king solely existed in. “I’m a bit out of my element with Anduin, and I would like to know your thoughts.”

“As I said, your majesty, I am without a child,” Shaw said. “There are plenty of others within the Keep that would be more suited for that sort of input. May I suggest—”

“You may not.” King Varian’s harsh words cut through the air and Shaw’s train of thoughts alike, and Shaw firmly clamped his mouth shut. “I asked you here for a reason, and it’s because I want your input, regardless of the qualifications.”

He was expecting Shaw to agree with him on whatever this is about. Dangerous territory. Shaw clasped his hands behind his back and gave a nod. “Very well,” he said.

The king crossed over to a window that overlooked part of the city. “Anduin believes he wants to become a priest.”

“Yes, I’ve heard,” Shaw said. It was no secret to anyone within the keep that King Varian had what one could describe as an extreme distaste to the prince’s aspirations. Rumor had it that only a few sympathized with the King, but not one was brave enough to point out that perhaps his stance was wrong. Considering how the last few dozen meetings have been going, Shaw couldn’t say he was surprised, or say with confidence that he wouldn’t do the same.

“The Wrynn family is one of warrior kings,” the king continued. “For as long as my family has ruled, it was with strength and courage.”

Shaw did his best to suppress the frown he felt. He would admit, while he did little to hide his own distaste of the more devout followers of the Light, the notion that they didn’t carry their own strength and courage was incredulous, and to hold that notion about one’s own son, nonetheless. “You don’t believe his highness holds those traits?”

“That’s different,” King Varian said, firm and not brooking an argument, despite the fact that he seemed to be fishing for one. “His strength does not come from physical prowess, he’s not an intimidating presence.”

“Does it matter where the strength comes from, if he can serve the Kingdom well with it all the same?” Shaw posited. “King Terenas was well regarded for his wisdom, not his prowess in a fight, and he ruled for fifty years.”

“Terenas wasn’t a Wrynn,” the king pointed out in a cold tone. 

Shaw stopped and took a moment to think. “What is it you’re asking of me for exactly, your majesty?” he asked.

“I need Anduin to understand that being a priest is a foolish notion.” The king turned to look at Shaw. “You’re always direct and honest, and I appreciate that about you, so I ask you, how do you think I should go about this?”

Shaw’s discontentment at the idea came from so deep within, he wasn’t sure how well he hid it. “How would you go about… dissuading Prince Anduin from becoming a priest?” he repeated, just to make sure he understood.

“Yes,” the king nodded.

There were only a few times where Shaw was given the luxury to think through something rather than going with a gut reaction, and as silence bred between them, Shaw took all the time he could. “I will admit, I’ve never been… fond of priests. That being said, I don’t think that trying to do this would be a good course of action.”

King Varian hesitated at that. “Why not?” he said, the words barked out.

“You care for Prince Anduin, yes?”

“Of course,” the king scoffed. “He’s my son.”

“Then the best thing you can do for him is to support him.”

“And what makes you believe that?”

Shaw cautiously plotted a path forward in this conversation. “Do you remember our first conversation, your majesty? When I said that all members of the guild were called into service to rid the orcs from Stormwind?”

The king furrowed his brow. “Yes?”

“I did mean all of them,” Shaw said. “Including me, and I am just a fair bit younger than you. I, along with someone who is one of my top agents now, worked to lure and kill orcs among the city, as our size let us get away from the orcs in a pinch.” He paused, gathering himself before looking the king right in the eye, unflinching. “We were both children.”

King Varian held Shaw’s gaze, examining him with a critical eye. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I didn’t kill the orcs because I wanted to. I killed them because it was the duty put upon me by the guildmaster, my grandmother. I was raised from a very young age to continue the family business of leading the guild, and I had no say in what I would do in my adulthood because of it.” With a growing confidence, Shaw raised his chin higher. “I can promise you from personal experience, your majesty, if you go through with forcing the prince to be something he doesn’t want to be, he will resent you for that until you are gone and well after that.”

Frustration filled the king’s face. Shaw found himself bracing for something—yelling, a chair, anything really—and couldn’t help tensing as Varian took the desk chair in a hand, pushing it in far more aggressively than need be. He leaned over the desk, bracing himself against it with a strong grip. “What would you do, then, Shaw?”

“Grin and bear it,” Shaw suggested. “Maybe it’s a phase and he’ll grow out of it, maybe it isn’t. But he isn’t going to do well with something that he doesn’t feel a calling towards.”

King Varian tilted his head like a dog that heard a strange sound at that. With a scoff, he replied, “does a child feel a calling to assassinating people?”

“I realized far too late in life that I should have had a choice, and by the time I did…” Shaw trailed off, realizing that it was a tad embarrassing to admit that it was only after he started working within the keep. “Well, it was far later than perhaps it should have been, and I didn’t know of anything else.” He took a breath. “I will say this, I haven’t spoken to my grandmother since I took up the mantle of spymaster, and there hasn’t been a day where I regret that.”

The king exhaled, heavy with aggravation, standing and pushing away the stray hairs from his face. “I… _appreciate_ the honesty,” he said. It sounded exasperated, strained, but it still felt honest.

“He already must take up the mantle of king one day, he will rule best with what comes naturally to him.” _And you can’t change someone’s nature without damaging them._

* * *

Shaw crossed his arms, standing between the stairs and the door. "What do you think you're doing?"

Anduin stopped to regard Shaw, eyes narrowed and head held high. He was getting tall—he didn't have far to go until he could look Shaw in the eyes. "The Twilight Hammer in Stormwind," he said simply. "We're investigating them."

Shaw looked to the Alliance adventurer, who just grinned sheepishly. They did anything for a handful of silver, so he wasn't too surprised at that, but still. "Weren't you supposed to keep him _out_ of trouble?" Shaw asked.

The adventurer just shrugged in response, growing even more sheepish under Shaw's scrutiny.

Shaw rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the prince. "Does your father know about this?"

"Of course he knows I'm with this Alliance hero," Prince Anduin said.

Prince Anduin must have taken Shaw for a fool if he was trying this. "You know what I meant, your highness."

With that, his highness started to buckle a bit. "Well, uh, no. He doesn't. But does he _need_ to know?"

"If your father were to ask me about what you were up to, it would be my duty to tell him the truth."

Prince Anduin perked up. "And if he didn't ask?"

Shaw shrugged, unfolding his arms and clasping his hands behind his back. "Then I didn't know about this either." Prince Anduin's eyes lit up bright. Quashing his teenage rebellion would do Shaw no good in the future; he knew what it was like to be a teenager, after all. "You will stay out of danger, however, or I will intervene myself and your father will hear of this."

"You have my word, Master Shaw," Prince Anduin said, his voice betraying his excitement. "Where are Samuelson's files?"

Shaw cocked an eyebrow. What _were_ these two up to? "Third floor."

Prince Anduin hurried past Shaw, up the stairs. Shaw regarded the adventurer with one last look as they passed Shaw to join the prince, nodding respectfully.

* * *

"So—" Baros poured the ale into two tankards. "Before you even ask, work is hell for me right now, thank you. How about you?"

Shaw grinned, taking the tankard Baros handed him. "Oh, boo hoo, you have to work for a living."

"You can hold any commentary you have until you try and rebuild a quarter of the city on a shoestring budget so the king doesn't strangle you himself," Baros muttered as he fought down a smile.

"He won't do that," Shaw said. "Just get very good at ducking and you'll be fine."

"I can't tell if you're joking or not and that's kind of terrifying."

Shaw laughed. The two were sitting on the roof of Baros' home in the Cathedral district. From the position, one could make out where the park once was, now destroyed entirely by a crazed dragon. "Well, to answer your question, I had fieldwork for the first time since becoming spymaster, up near the highlands. It was a good change of pace."

"Kill any baddies?" Baros asked before taking a drink from his tankard.

"Aplenty," Shaw said, and knowing what Baros' question was actually asking, continued, "they were cultists."

"Same ones that tried to blow up the city even further?"

"Word got out about that?"

"The prince was running around the city, of _course_ everyone was talking about it."

Shaw groaned. "I swear, sometimes I feel like a glorified babysitter when it comes to him."

"Eh, he seems like a good kid, he can't be too much trouble."

"He convinced an adventurer to help him hunt down cultists and I'm technically not allowed to say no to him when he does things like this."

"A young man getting into trouble he shouldn't? That never happened before." Baros said, elbowing Shaw.

Shaw didn't acknowledge that. "How has things been, other than work?"

"Ah, well," Baros started. "Saw my mother the other day. She asked about you."

"Did she now?"

Baros nodded. "Yeah, she asked if you were still kicking around. I told her yes, and then she asked what you were up to. I told her I didn't get that sort of information."

"Why did she ask?"

"I don't know if you know this, but she sort of sees you as a second son.”

Shaw lifted the tankard to his mouth and pondered that. “Well, I suppose she’s the closest thing I had to a mother.”

“Good.” Baros bumped shoulders with Shaw. “I always wanted a brother.” Shaw snorted at that.

The sun began to dip down behind the horizon, shining against the ocean and lighting all the cathedral district’s rooftops into a brilliant gold. With the day winding down, the district was quiet, only a few souls still drifting about; clerics and priests heading to their homes, a couple of mourners exiting from the cemetery, and one woman moving with intense purpose among the shadows, though she made no effort to hide herself.

Her blue eyes flicked up towards Shaw and Baros as she approached. Baros seemed to take notice of her as well, and called out below, “Hey, Amber! Come to join us?”

“I have to speak with Shaw,” she called up to them, all business.

“He’s off duty!” Baros shot off before Shaw could reply, bending over so far Shaw was worried he’d slip off the roof.

“Is it pressing?” Shaw asked.

Kearnen hesitated. “I suppose it isn’t.”

Shaw made a slight gesture with his tankard. “Then I’m off duty. Will you join us?”

“I still have some things I need to finish up,” she said. “You two have a good night.”

“You too, Amber,” Baros called after her, and they both watched her disappear down the street to Old Town. “How’s she doing, by the way?” Shaw hummed in question. “Amber,” Baros clarified. “I hardly see her anymore. Probably because you work her too hard.”

Shaw’s shoulders canted with silent amusement. “She’s doing well. I wasn’t aware she was back, actually. She’s been out in Westfall for the past several weeks.”

“I guess it’s true that the Defias are cropping up again in Westfall, then.”

Shaw frowned into his tankard. “They were. It’s been handled.” He wondered if word that it was Vanessa who revived them would make it to Stormwind. He hoped not; he didn’t want to have that conversation with Baros, even if his actions were justified. Thinking about the decision was upsetting enough.

“You look like you’re contemplating death,” Baros said, tone light but still carrying concern.

“I just need something stronger,” Shaw groused.

“That—” Baros grinned wide and moved to get up. “That I can do.”

* * *

Greymane's daughter was as tall as Shaw, if not a hair taller. Shaw did not enjoy that fact.

"How can I help you, your highness?" Shaw asked, looking over the young woman who stood at his office door.

"I want to become a rogue." Shaw narrowed his eyes at that, almost with amusement. In turn, Princess Tess raised her chin, that trademark Gilnean stubbornness flashed in her eyes. "Is that a problem?"

"No, I just fail to see why you're speaking to me about it," Shaw replied.

"You're spoken highly of for your skills in assassination," Princess Tess explained. "I want to be able to defend myself."

Shaw turned his attention back to his reports. There was hubbub in the Kirin Tor over something, and Shaw's agents had yet to weasel out what it was. He had penned a message to the archmage Khadgar a week earlier; if anyone within the Violet Citadel would open up to Shaw, it would be him. "If you want to be able to defend yourself, take up a sword and shield."

Princess Tess crossed the office, placed her hands on Shaw's desk, and leaned over. Shaw leaned back in his chair to reclaim his personal space and looked to her again, annoyed now. "Your highness, I do have a _job_ to do. I can't be spending my time training you when you're not even one of my agents."

Tess Greymane, however, was not deterred. "Please?" she tried.

Surprising, but if Shaw relented at every kind word, he would be long dead. "Your highness," he repeated, hoping she'd take it as the dismissal it was.

She didn't. Or she ignored it. Most likely the latter. She stood back, putting on an air of poise and regality. "It would annoy my father greatly to find out I'm doing this."

Shaw, bemused, asked, "is that supposed to incentivize me?"

"Come on, Master Shaw, surely you've had your own teenage rebellion when you were younger," she said. "Stuck it to your own father with something."

Shaw didn't, but that was hardly the point. "I've had quite enough of teenage rebellion as of late with Prince Anduin, I hardly want to invite more of it into my workload."

"Let me prove myself," Princess Tess said. "Give me a week and I'll show you I'm worth the time."

Shaw watched her, fixing her with a critical stare. He could say no, repeatedly, and she could keep asking, or he could agree and then have the issue dropped by the end of the week. "Fine." He pointed to his right. "Knock on the next door over, tell who answers the door that you want to be trained and that I sent you to him." Renzik would not be pleased with this, but if there was anyone that could break a new recruit, it was him.

Princess Tess bowed her head, "thank you."

"Impress him, Greymane. I'm not going to be pleased if this is a waste of time, and neither will he."

* * *

Shaw watched Baros pace around his living room, flushed with nervous energy that lacked a proper outlet. "I just— I should take this. It's a great opportunity, it's, it's _insane."_

He paced the living room, walking from the large grandfather clock before spinning on his heel and heading to the kitchen table. It was a cycle with no end in sight. Shaw was getting dizzy just watching Baros, but that may have been because the two have been drinking for some time before all of this. "It'd be insane _not_ to take it. I can't believe I'm getting such an offer."

Shaw stayed silent while Baros paced. Nothing he could honestly say would be any use, anyway.

Baros suddenly turned to him. "You don't think I should do it."

Shaw frowned. "I didn't say anything."

"Exactly," Baros said as he crossed his arms. "You think it's a bad idea and won't tell me."

Shaw sighed. "There's always risk with these sorts of things, you know that. But there's no one better for the job, and you'd be surrounded with some of the best the Alliance has to offer. I'll have agents out there as well."

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself more than you're trying to convince me."

Shaw paused. "Perhaps I am."

Baros laughed at the candor, a kind laugh that's more of a mote of relief than anything else. He finally took his seat again, Shaw watching him sit down in his armchair made of a nice leather. "Well," he said, clasping his hands together. "I should take it."

"You should," Shaw said, before adding, "speaking as your friend."

"But speaking as the spymaster?"

"Speaking as the spymaster—" Shaw was silent as he thought. "—you should just be aware that going out to another planet, to the orc homeland nonetheless, will have its dangers. Worst case scenarios can happen. It's... well it's war."

"Are you going there?" Baros asked, taking his tankard from where he carefully tucked it under the chair so that he wouldn't knock it over during his pacing.

Shaw shook his head. "No," he said. "I'll be staying in Stormwind."

"Orcs opening up from an alternate timeline not high enough priority for you?"

"It takes a cold day in Hell to get me into the field, unfortunately. Amber will be there, as well as a few other agents."

"Good, someone I can talk behind your back with.” Baros grinned, looking at Shaw. "I'll tell you all about it when I get back."

 _When._ That was optimistic for Baros. Or perhaps Shaw was just so engrossed into his cynicism that he couldn't identify it for what it was. "I'd enjoy that."

"Got to steal something nice for that, then." Baros jostled his tankard around. "Something better than what I can do."

Shaw grinned. "I'll see what I can get my hands on."

* * *

Shaw jammed his elbow into Tess' abdomen and shouldered her off of him, spinning on his heel to strike at her. A quick hand caught Shaw's wrist, and the rounded tip of the wooden training dagger was pushed against his throat. "Better," Shaw said. "Still overextended—" He took Tess' other wrist in hand and leaned back, watching her struggle to keep her balance. "—but better."

Tess let go of Shaw's wrist and pulled away. "I know, I just need to practice it a couple more times.”

“I have no doubts that you’ll have it down by the time we’re done for the day.” Tess had been doing remarkably well in combat training, much to Shaw’s surprise. He would admit, he didn’t think that she would be particularly bad at it, but her taking to cloak and dagger practices like a fish to water was something he wasn’t expecting. It was almost a pity that she wouldn’t be serving under SI:7.

"Master Shaw!" someone called out, and both Shaw and Tess turned to see a young woman, dressed in spellcaster's robes and clutching a missive between delicate fingers. Everything about this, from the woman's expression and posture, to just the fact that he was receiving a message that wasn't sent through SI:7's usual channels, set off alarm bells in Shaw.

Something terrible had happened.

Shaw met the woman half way in the yard, and she extended the letter out to him. He took it, almost nervous of the contents. As he took it, the woman spoke, "I need to—"

Shaw interrupted her, already knowing where the sentence was going. "Go."

She took a step back, giving a polite nod as arcane energy gathered at her fingertips. He turned away from her as she began to cast her teleport spell. The letter had an off-white wax seal, no identifying emblem across it, which was standard for SI:7 missives. Neutral and inconspicuous. He broke the seal and flipped open the letter.

He recognized Kearnen's penmanship in an instant. It did nothing to settle the feeling in his stomach as he mentally decoded the cipher.

_Alexston dead._

_Report to follow._

_I'm sorry._

Shaw was distantly aware that a seven worded message held his attention for far longer than it should, but also it didn't. His mind was elsewhere, so many thoughts that he couldn't even process them all.

"Master Shaw?" Tess said in an effort to catch his attention. It did, and he reread the message one more time before folding it up again and tucking it into an inner pocket in his armor. She was holding back questions, and Shaw glanced at her. "Everything okay in Draenor?" she tried.

"It's personal business, actually," Shaw said. It was only half of a lie. "Something that I need to address."

"Oh," Tess said. "How long will that take?"

"Some time," Shaw said, rubbing at his face. Baros' mother was still alive. He should go tell her before the crown sends someone, but the thought of that conversation was a hard one to stomach. Somehow he came to the realization that Tess asked that for a reason beyond curiosity, and he forcibly gathered his thoughts, trying to center himself. "I will be preoccupied with this."

She frowned. "Not to sound self-centered, but no training then."

Shaw pressed his lips together in thought. She was a promising student, but he couldn’t devote much time to her as is. There was someone, however, that would love to take her under his wing. "How much do you know of the kingdom of Alterac?" he asked.

* * *

Shaw knocked on the door, his stomach feeling as if it had somehow wrangled itself into a complicated sailing knot. He stood on the front stoop for a good thirty seconds without response, and just as he was about to knock again, the door opened.

"Oh," Mrs. Alexston said, a quiet gasp of horror. "He's gone, isn't he?"

Shaw’s eyes widened in surprise, completely flatfooted. "How did you guess?"

She looked at Shaw with something other than grief as she said, "you've always been something of a bad omen, Mathias."

Shaw exhaled. He would unpack that later. "May I come in?"

Mrs. Alexston nodded, pulling open the door wider and moving from it. "I wasn't expecting guests, so you'll have to pardon the mess," she said. Shaw looked around the living room as he closed the door behind him. It was incredibly tidy, and he didn't know if that was a joke or not. He avoided commenting on that just to play it safe. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, that's quite all right," Shaw said, following her to the living room. She took a seat in a rocking chair that was most likely older than Shaw was, cushioned and well-loved. "I'm technically not supposed to be speaking about this with you," he said, taking a seat on the couch. The couch was definitely older than him, and was uncomfortable to sit on after over four decades of use. "The crown will send out someone official to deliver the news within the week."

Mrs. Alexston had her gaze fixed on nowhere in particular. "Are they going to give me a cash prize for losing my son?" she remarked. Shaw winched, the words incredibly bitter, but he couldn't find anything in his heart to blame her. The fire that sparked momentarily dampened once again, and she gave a soft sigh as she pushed back her long gray hair back behind her ear. "I'm sorry, that was..."

"A response I would probably have, in your position," Shaw filled in while she trailed off.

Mrs. Alexston looked over at him now. She aged incredibly well, all things considered; Shaw felt older than she looked. "When did you get the news?"

"I got the official report two hours ago," Shaw said, which wasn't the answer. He had been putting off telling her as long as he could. "I... wasn't expecting it."

"I certainly didn't expect to outlive both my husband and my son," she remarked. "I don't think you expected to outlive him and Edwin either."

Shaw looked down at his hands, fiddling with idle nerves. "Not entirely, no." He had put thought to the idea, back when Stormwind was still in reconstruction. It would be easy for Shaw to die in the field, but his grandmother had lived a long life despite having the same career path. Either way would have been possible.

Mrs. Alexston looked away from Shaw, out the window. "How?"

"There was an attack on the garrison," Shaw explained. "He took a blade meant for a woman."

She sighed, her breath shaking with emotion. "That's my Baros."

It was, and Shaw almost hated him for it. If he hadn’t taken that hit, he most likely would have lived, he would have come back to Azeroth. It was a poor mindset to be in, Shaw was smart enough to acknowledge that, but not enough to cease the thoughts entirely. He sighed and brought a hand to his face. "I wish I came on better terms."

"Oh, that's quite all right," she spoke. "That's something I've grown used to with you Shaws." The words were spoken with no malice, but yet they stung. There was a cycle that had yet to be broken.

"My mother," Shaw said. "No one spoke of her to me, about how she was, past her work in the guild." He struggled to find the words to complete the thoughts in his head, but Mrs. Alexston seemed to get what he was working towards.

"She was a good woman. She had fire, determination, but she always seemed in the process of... going somewhere."

Shaw frowned. "In... a literal sense?"

"Sometimes." She stared off, lost in memory. "When we got older, she became more distant, and we saw each other less and less. When we did see each other, she always seemed... somewhere else." There was silence for a moment, carrying in the air as she thought. "I always told her that I was there for her if she needed me, and she was always very... sure of herself that she wouldn't need help."

"Then what," Shaw asked, "she rode out to your stead in the middle of the night to tell you that she was with child?"

Mrs. Alexston leaned back in her seat, the chair taking on a slow, rhythmic rock. "She didn't tell me about you until you were a couple years old."

Shaw didn't have a response to that. He remembered Edwin, the pure joy that radiated from him when Vanessa was born, and how determined he was to try and share that joy with Shaw. He remembered how the keep was bombarded with constant visits from nobles when Anduin was born, and how it was more than just diplomatic affairs. That seemed like a normal reaction, a reaction someone should have when they had a child.

The idea of his mother not doing that...

Would Shaw have done the same?

"Do you know why?" he asked.

"We... disagreed often on things, on how she..." she hesitated, searching for words.

"If you're trying to spare my feelings, you can speak openly," Shaw said.

"It's not that," she assured.

Shaw frowned, trying to think of what it was, if it wasn't that. "Pathonia passed away some time ago, if that's the concern."

Mrs. Alexston let out a sigh of relief at that. "Well then, speaking openly, I didn't agree with... your family business." She looked over to Shaw with honest expression. "You've taken the guild and made it something reputable, and I think that's good, but I never agreed with what your grandmother did."

Shaw didn't need to ask for specifics. He just nodded.

"Your mother and I disagreed heavily on that, and as a result, it pushed her away from me. I didn't hear from her for a long while after that, and when I finally did, she acted so differently than from what I knew her to be."

Shaw’s thoughts drifted towards his last conversation with Edwin, and then to the several before that one in a similar vein. He forced himself back to the present. "Different how?"

"Worried, paranoid, to an almost obsessive degree. Like she knew something bad was going to happen soon. She refused to give me any answers about it, and I felt helpless. And then, a few months later… she was gone.”

Shaw bowed his head. More details of a ghost story he thought he had fully understood, jumbling to make a mess of a full picture. He stood up from the couch, restraining the heavy sigh he wanted to let loose. "Thank you, Mrs. Alexston. I appreciate it."

He crossed back over to the front door, and Mrs. Alexston called after him, "your mother would be proud to see how far you've come, Mathias."

Shaw gave a look back to the woman, the closest thing he truly had to mother. "Have a good day, Mrs. Alexston."

* * *

Springs in Westfall were bitter and cold up until they weren't, regaining the sweltering humidity that Stranglethorn sent their way and refusing to let go of it until the first snow fell, and sometimes well after it. Arathi, on the other hand, was all around mild in its seasons, never reaching that same humidity Westfall had, with the winters being just a touch colder. The temperate weather certainly made the general maintenance that Shaw had to do to his cabin an easier experience.

It was good, to get away, to minimize his responsibilities to just himself and his cabin, for just a short while, at the least. He ran a hand along his chin, feeling the stubble under his fingertips as he looked at himself in the full length mirror leaning against the wall. There were gray hairs among the red ones against his cheeks. Aging was never a prospect that terribly bothered Shaw, but for some reason, the discoloration bothered him on some minor level, more than the greying at his temples did.

Time marches on, he supposed. It was a somber thought now, with everything.

Two of his childhood friends were dead, one dead because he defied the kingdom Shaw worked for, and the other dead because he aided it.

Shaw truly looked at himself, his green eyes dark in the shadows of the cabin, all the windows shuttered now and the only light being that of candlelight. He permitted himself to wallow in the emotion, forcing himself to watch his expression soften with grief before he gathered himself up once again and turned away from the mirror.

He ate for the sake of having something in his stomach before dragging a chair out to the front porch, whittling knife in hand. The sun had begun to dip below the mountains, bathing the plains in fiery colors. Far off into the distance, smoke rose up into the air, striking momentary worry in Shaw before remembering that another cabin was out there; his closest neighbor, and yet, hidden from sight.

He took a seat in the chair and sighed, just taking a moment to sit before reaching over and taking one of the small logs that were stacked there. Shaw rolled his shoulders before taking his knife and sending the first swipe across it. It had been a while since he sat down to whittle something, he had nearly grown to miss it, the familiarity of it all. The feeling of the wood beneath his fingertips, the sound of the knife slicing through it, the steady motions. It was easy to just focus on it and let everything else fall away, concerning himself with just this little hunk of wood he was making into a crude facsimile of a bird.

Why a bird, specifically, he didn’t really know why he gravitated to it. They weren’t that remarkable of animals in Shaw’s book, other than the fact that their calls were handy in the field, but their shape was simple to get the hang of and yet always able to be improved upon while carving.

The smell of smoke reached Shaw halfway through, and he glanced up, everything in him on edge. The hazy clouds had grown in size, and it was enough to get Shaw to set aside his project. He hurried inside the cabin, grabbed his sheath belt and threw it around his waist, sheathed his daggers, and ran back out.

Shaw bridled his horse and mounted it, going without the saddle as he urged it to hurry on down the trail. The acrid taste of smoke tainted the air, growing stronger as he drew closer to the source. Shaw hoped he was overreacting, that there wasn’t actually an issue, and that he was just paranoid from work.

From the several silhouettes and the burning barn, he wasn’t. He slowed the horse, lashing it to a fence post with a few comforting words. He drew his daggers and kept low, taking shelter in the shadows of the growing evening as he approached. There were a few people laying against the ground, one quietly sobbing as two people stood above them, armed with blades and wearing an orange bandana to cover their faces. Syndicate.

There was another Syndicate member, not too far off from the rest, a shortsword to the neck of a kneeling man. Shaw quickly assessed the risks of heading for either side first before making his choice.

“I swear, we don’t have anything,” the kneeling man pleaded. “Let us go, please.”

“We’ll see if that’s true, and we’ll see how nice I’m feeling if I find out that’s true,” the Syndicate member sneered. It was enough to anger Shaw, hiding in the shadows of their cabin as he approached. They didn’t even glance in Shaw’s direction, a sloppy, sloppy job, but Shaw supposed they weren’t expecting a fight out in these fields.

Their mistake.

Shaw lunged, keeping low until he reached the Syndicate man and slicing at the bandana. His dagger tore through both cloth and flesh, and he used his momentum to push the Syndicate away from the kneeling man and to the ground. His two friends finally took notice of Shaw, but it was far too late, and Shaw let the shadows obscure him once more as he shadowstepped, shifting behind the other Syndicate. From behind, he dragged a dagger across the throat of one of them, the thug choking out in surprise.

Shaw narrowly avoided the shortsword of the other Syndicate as he pushed the dying one to the ground, and was less lucky on the second slash in his direction, getting a glancing blow across his abdomen. He took a step back, watching the thug overreach after him, and Shaw took them by the wrist and pulled them close. They stumbled into Shaw’s dagger chest first.

There were two children and a woman below him, looking utterly terrified, but no worse for wear. Shaw sheathed a dagger and extended a hand to the woman. “Are you all right?”

The woman wordlessly took his hand, silent with shock. Shaw helped her to her feet and she gave him a nod.

“There’s another,” the man behind Shaw called to him, and Shaw turned to look at him. “In our home.”

Shaw nodded to him and went to the cabin. “There should be a patrol of guards south of here, one of you go fetch them. I’ll take care of the straggler.” He threw the door open, seeing the orange clad human looking through drawers like the rat he was. He looked up at Shaw, and Shaw scowled at him. “Your friends are dead. Are you going to make this easy for yourself, or are you going to make it easy for me?”

The Syndicate member looked like a child caught sneaking treats after being told no, eyes wide with shock. Shaw was certain he seemed intimidating, armed and splattered with the blood of others. He thought back to when Mrs. Alexston said that he was a bad omen. Perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing, not in his line of work.

The man, with hands raised above his head, slowly made his way to Shaw and out of the cabin. He seemed positively terrified. Good. He pulled the swords from the Syndicate’s sheathe as he moved past Shaw. “Sit on the grass,” he ordered in a rough voice. “Hands on your head.”

The man and his two kids, an older boy and a younger girl, had begun working on putting out the fire that had engulfed most of their barn. The woman was gone, hopefully to fetch the guard. Shaw tossed the swords on the porch and kept one dagger drawn, his other hand pressing against the wound at his stomach.

It took forty minutes for them to return, dusk darkening the hills. The fire was dealt with at this point, father and son trying to salvage what they could from the barn while the daughter took turns looking between them and where Shaw and the Syndicate were. The sight of torches down the path was a relieving sight.

“You managed to take care of four Syndicate members by yourself?” the one leading the patrol asked Shaw.

“They weren’t much trouble.”

“That’s impressive,” the guard remarked. “Have you ever thought about enlisting?”

Shaw shook his head. “My forte doesn’t lie with a sword and shield.”

“I know SI:7 is always taking in new people, especially people that already have demonstrable skill.”

With an amused grin, Shaw said, “I’ll consider it.”

The patrol took the living Syndicate member, as well as the deceased ones, and went on their way. Shaw watched them go before realizing just how many pairs of eyes on him. He turned, seeing the entire family looking at him. He wondered if it would be rude to just disappear into the shadows. “Are you injured?” the man asked.

“Hm? Oh, no, I’m fine.” In a poor move, Shaw moved his arm that was pressed against the wound to gesture with it, blood slicked as it was. Not even the darkness could hide how much it coated his hand.

“Please, let me take care of that,” the woman said.

“That won’t be necessary, thank you.”

And then Shaw was seated on their dinner table, sans shirt. They were very open about themselves; the woman was Amalia, the man was Reed, their son was Michael, and their daughter was Lucy. Reed was a hunter and Amalia was a tanner, and Reed sold raptor hides to the local Alliance outposts when they got a decent pile. They talked a lot, and Shaw just nodded along as he tried not to white knuckle his way through the stitch job. He could have done better, and he would probably pull the stitching out when he got back and redo it himself.

Michael and Lucy watched from the doorway of their bedroom, despite their father’s constant scolding and ordering to bed. Shaw felt their curious eyes on him the entire time, occasionally glancing their way to see them trying to hide from view as quickly as possible. Eventually though, Michael got bold, and said, “where did you learn to do that?”

“Michael,” his mother snapped.

“I told you to go to bed,” his father added.

“My grandmother always thought it was important to learn how to defend yourself,” Shaw answered, it being more or less honest.

Lucy popped her head out as well. “What about your mom and dad?”

Shaw looked over to them. “I didn’t have parents, I only lived with my grandmother.” They both seemed incredibly saddened by that answer, as if it was the first time they pondered the idea of someone not having parents. Perhaps it was; other than the Syndicate and a couple Horde skirmishes, not much touched the hills of Arathi these days. “You should listen to your father and go to bed,” he said.

With great reluctance, they both dipped back into their small room. Shaw dipped his head down and looked at the progress Amalia was making. She should stick to working with leathers. “I’m so sorry about them,” Amalia said.

“Don’t be. Children are supposed to be curious.” Shaw looked away from the work so he didn’t get needlessly angry. He should have been more insistent on going home. He leaned back, rolling his head back and taking a deep breath.

“It’s alright,” Amalia says, mistaking Shaw’s labored breathing for pain rather than frustration. Shaw didn’t correct her.

“Thank you,” Reed said. “You risked your lives for us.”

“Just the neighborly thing to do,” Shaw murmured to the ceiling.

“I think we might be bad neighbors, then,” Reed chuckled. “If there’s anything we can do to repay you—”

“This is more than enough,” Shaw assured quickly, tacking on a half remembered “thank you” afterwards.

“Well, we are all done here,” Amalia said. “Not the best stitch job ever done, perhaps, but still good work.”

It wasn’t, but Shaw wasn’t about to say that. “I should get going.”

“Yes, it’s getting late,” Amalia said, clasping bloodied hands together before realizing she was spreading a mess. She frowned, and Shaw moved off the table and grabbed his linen shirt. “Wait, I don’t think I even asked your name.”

Shaw would have preferred that she didn’t, but he supposed he did already bleed all over their table. _At her insistence, hardly my fault._ He pulled on his shirt. “It’s Mathias,” he said after a moment of internal deliberation.

“What a lovely name,” Amalia said.

That was a first. He opened the front door and hesitated in the door jamb. “Do be careful, I’m not always at my cabin. I won’t be around to catch an event like today a second time.”

“Well, what’s the chance of that happening again?” Reed asked.

“Not an impossible one,” Shaw said. Something in him realized how brooding and melancholic that sounded, and he didn’t like that. He was a bad omen. His grip tightened on the door. “But it won’t happen tonight, and that’s what’s important. Another night with who you have. Hold onto that.” That didn’t sound any better; it was just a different brand of melancholy. Light, he should just go home and tear these stitches out.

The cool night embraced him, the smell of smoke lingering in the air. _Always been something of a bad omen._ He sighed, resisted the urge to rub at his face, and headed for his horse.

* * *

Well, this was embarrassing.

Shaw watched the Broken Shore with a looming sense of dread. The fel chains that secured his wrists behind him scorched his flesh whenever he moved too quickly, being a pretty good deterrent to him moving at all. Nearly every agent in Shaw's company was killed, their torn apart corpses still lying around. A felhound was idly chewing on one out of the corner of Shaw's eye. He turned his head away, trying not to let his mind figure out who was being eaten posthumously.

Now, the only soul still alive with him was Amber Kearnen, who was sitting directly behind him, back to back. Her breathing was labored behind Shaw. Things were grim, the chance of either of them making it out was rather slim, and the chance to alert the Horde and Alliance before they made it to the Broken Shore were even slimmer.

"What do we do now?" Kearnen asked, voice hoarse and quiet.

Shaw's eyes flicked to the demons, watching them carefully. None of them seemed to be paying too much attention to them now that Detheroc had moved towards the evac site. "The way I see it," Shaw said, matching her volume, "we got two options. We wait for them to rip our souls out of our bodies or whatever these bastards want to do with us."

"Or?" Kearnen pressed.

"Or," he gave another glance to the felguards. It was like Shaw and Kearnen didn’t even matter to them. It was a little bit insulting. "I try to pry your binds off and you try to get out of here and warn someone about this."

Kearnen twisted her head. "Why not you?"

"You at least have the chance of getting out of here." Shaw, very slowly, reached for the hidden pocket he kept a set of lockpicks stashed, putting care to make sure he didn't accidentally jostle or move too quickly. "I'd be hunted down immediately once they found out. They might not care about you as much."

He didn't need to see Kearnen to know what she was doing, her mouth most likely drawn thin with contempt for the concept, at the idea of her running with Shaw staying behind. "There's got to be another way."

"If you have a better idea, I'd love to hear it." Shaw managed to slip out his picks, holding his breath the entire time. She wouldn't argue, not if she couldn't come up with something better; she was stubborn, but she wasn't dumb. "How high is your pain tolerance?"

"Just get it over with," she said.

Shaw took the tension wrench in hand and, with the utmost caution, ran the tip of the wrench along Kearnen's fel chains. It made a low humming sound at the touch of the metal, and Shaw held his breath as he traced the edge of the chains. His touch was light, careful, trying not to push the magical binds into Kearnen's wrists. The wrench was caught, finding the unseen seam, and Shaw brought up the pick up to the other side of the binds.

There was no traditional lock to these binds; SI:7 had managed to get their hands on a disabled one, and Renzik figured out that, while there was no lock to it, you could wedge the two halves apart. That, of course, was on one that didn't burn your flesh at the touch. If it worked while the metal scorched was anyone's guess.

Kearnen made a stifled noise from behind Shaw. He continued to try and pry the pick into the seam the best he could. Once it was wedged sufficiently, he angled it sideways and pushed. Delicate work, as pushing the binds sent them down against Kearnen's wrists. She managed to hold back any pained noises, somehow, and something in Shaw wished to commend her for that, but he was more focused on getting these binds off.

With enough of a gap, Shaw managed to wedge the wrench in after it, now able to push the binds in different directions. Four seconds of careful prying, and the bind snapped apart with a sharp hiss sound, falling in between Shaw and Kearnen. They both released their held breaths. The felguards didn't even look over. It was pathetic, how they managed to get the drop on Shaw and his best agents.

"Wait for a moment," Shaw whispered, "then run."

Kearnen was silent for a breath. She tilted her head back, against Shaw's. "It's been an honor, Mathias."

She thought they wouldn't see each other again.

"Likewise, Amber."

There were a few shared moments of silence between them, and then Amber was pushing off from Shaw, onto her feet, and running with silent steps. Shaw didn't turn to watch her go, instead, he focused himself on the horizon, where the great sea laid stretched out. There were hints of red and blue sails dotting themselves where the sky met the sea. The first fleet was here.

No one that knew him would call Shaw religious, but with the utmost sincerity, he thought, _Light, save their souls._ Shaw couldn't, he _failed,_ and now he was a man condemned. He could only hope that Amber managed to get word to Renzik, to Varian, to _someone,_ and let them know what transpired here.

The felguards finally spared Shaw a glance. They yelled something in their demonic tongue, and Shaw prepared himself for what was to come.

* * *

(He didn’t recall those two months willingly.)

* * *

Shaw never thought he'd ever be relieved to smell the awful stench of Dalaran's sewers.

"One spymaster of the Alliance, chipped around the edges, but in one piece," the blood elf said, giving a bow as he walked into the meeting room, Shaw in tow. Shaw had to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"Thank you, Shadowblade," Jorach Ravenholdt replied. "You'll be contacted when we're ready for our next move."

He gave a wave as he turned and exited the room, the false bookcases closing shut behind him, leaving just Jorach and Shaw. Jorach waited a beat before saying, "you're almost as skinny as when I first met you."

It wasn't the greeting Shaw expected, but by the Light, it was one he appreciated. He exhaled, the corners of his mouth turning up a bit. "I don't know if that says more about the Legion's hospitality, or my grandmother's care."

"I'm glad to see they haven't taken your sense of humor," Jorach replied. "I must admit, when we got Amber Kearnen's missive, we feared the worst for you."

"She's alive?" Shaw asked, his mind immediately thinking back to one of Detheroc's bouts of bragging, how he mocked her and Shaw's attempt of stopping him, and how Kearnen got rewarded with a knife through her spine for her efforts.

Jorach looked at Shaw somberly. "Unfortunately, no. She was killed on our doorstep by—"

"By SI:7," Shaw sighed. He wondered if he could recover Claire, Kearnen's favorite rifle. He knew that her brother was still out in Westfall, he'd most likely appreciate it.

Jorach raised an eyebrow towards Shaw.

"Detheroc was... fond of demoralization tactics," Shaw explained. "I had hoped that most of what came out of his mouth was false."

"Well, in that case, let me rip the bandage off," Jorach said. "King Varian is dead."

Shaw had expected that one to be true. He dipped his head. It was, undeniably, his fault that the king was dead. That would be a weight he would be carrying for the rest of his life.

"SI:7 has been acting rather erratically, and I don't know what your false half has been telling the young king," Jorach continued, "but other than that, the situation is fairly contained. And with you now recovered, we can take care of this and get you back where you belong."

Where Shaw belonged. If it had come from anyone else, those words probably wouldn't ring the way they did. He rubbed the lower half of his face, feeling the beard that had grown over the past—

"How long has it been?" Shaw asked. "Since the battle?"

"Two months, give or take some days."

The amount of damage that could be done in two months with Shaw's position was a disastrous amount. He'd have to work to minimize the damage as soon as possible. "Valeera is with the Uncrowned still, correct?"

Jorach inclined his head, considering Shaw's words the way he did when he was trying to map out a conversation. "She is."

"Ask her to shadow th— King Anduin for me, until the situation is handled."

Jorach tilted his head to the side. Shaw felt as if they were playing chess, and that the older man was planning moves in advance. "You were held by the Burning Legion for two months, were rescued minutes ago, and you're already thinking about the next move."

"Stormwind and the Alliance are at risk for as long as we take," Shaw said. "And the longer we take, the longer Detheroc has to prepare for us."

After a moment of careful deliberation, Jorach said, "your grandmother would be proud."

Shaw narrowed his eyes. He didn't know what angle Jorach was pushing towards, but he was bold to try now. "I hardly see how that's relevant to the conversation we're having, Jorach."

"It's a compliment, Shaw."

 _Not from you, it isn't,_ but Shaw held his tongue. "When's the earliest you can mobilize your Shadowblades to strike?"

Jorach tapped his fingers against the table. "Tomorrow night."

"Not tonight?"

"You need to take a moment to gather yourself before that," Jorach said. "I doubt you've gotten a proper meal in some time."

"What makes you think that I'd be coming along?"

Jorach scoffed. "Because you're your grandmother's grandson, stubbornly defiant in getting your way... and you're your daughter's son."

The comment would have been unwelcome at the best of times, but right now, it was well past that point. Shaw clenched his teeth and crossed his arms, his hands grabbing his arms roughly as he stared down Jorach.

Jorach grinned. "Just making sure the Burning Legion didn't take the fight in you. Besides—" He walked up to Shaw, placing a hand on his shoulder. _"—that one_ was a compliment."

Shaw said nothing in response to that, he had nothing to say that wasn’t overly rude. Jorach lingered for a moment, then gave his shoulder a light squeeze. "Come on, let's get some food in you."

Jorach pulled the sconce on the wall, the false bookcase sliding open. "Anything you've missed?"

"Coffee," Shaw admitted.

Jorach looked at him. "Shouldn't you get some rest before then?"

Shaw scoffed. "There isn’t enough coffee in this city to keep me awake in a bed."

"Well then, coffee you shall get." The two ascended the stairs, the bookcase rolling shut behind them. "Can we get our guest a cup of coffee?" Jorach asked the bartender in front, who gave a glance to Shaw before nodding.

There were the sounds of someone yelling from down the sewers, the noise echoing against the walls. "Ah, right," Jorach said with a sigh. Shaw raised an eyebrow as the older man turned to him. "I do need to go over something with you, if you're going to be here for a time."

"What's the matter?"

Jorach sighed once again, clasping his hands together. "Many members of the Defias Brotherhood are now members of the Uncrowned."

Shaw raised an eyebrow. That was not an unexpected thing, the Uncrowned took in all sorts of rogues. "You're not telling me something."

"I'm getting to it," Jorach said. He took a breath and looked to the other end of the sewer. "Among them is their kingpin, Vanessa VanCleef."

If the Light was merciful, he would have been struck down on the Broken Shore months ago. As it were, however, here he stood, in Dalaran's sewers. "Edwin VanCleef's daughter is alive?"

"Yes, and she is... a bit... _unwelcoming_ to the idea of you being here," Jorach continued.

There were sounds of something being knocked over in a fit of rage.

"Jorach," Shaw warned.

Jorach turned and took the mug he was handed and pressed it into Shaw's hands. It warmed his fingers and palms to an uncomfortable degree. "I would have told you earlier, but you were a bit preoccupied for the past couple of months."

"I doubt this is a new development," he hissed. This would be a bureaucratic nightmare on Shaw’s end if anyone in the House found out about this, the least Jorach could have done was send a letter.

_"JORACH!"_

Shaw nearly jumped, both him and Jorach looking over to see a young woman dressed in red. Even if he wasn't told that it was Vanessa, it was clear in her features; her dark hair that was cropped short, her prominent nose showing with her red bandana was pulled down to around her neck, and while she had her mother's eyes, the fire that burned in them was all Edwin's. Seeing her was a shock to the system; she was so much like her father, yet she was undeniably her own person.

Jorach took a half-step, just enough to put his shoulder between Shaw and Vanessa as the woman approached. "I'm sure that you still have an inside voice, Vanessa," Jorach said.

"How could you let him here?" Vanessa ignored Jorach, voice filled with outrage, and something else. "He's the reason my father is dead!"

"That's how it is in this business," Jorach responded, cold enough to make even Shaw flinch. While it was clear the older man showed favor towards Vanessa, he made no effort to coddle her.

Her fire was then directed towards Shaw, rage etched into every feature of hers. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Shaw saw before him a young woman, set on a path she had no control over, forced to follow in her father's footsteps. Hurting and aching from the loss of that father, and wanting justice for the transgression that set her on that path.

Light, Shaw saw himself in her.

He looked down to the mug in his hands. It was his fault that she was on this path, even if only partially. "If I did, would you listen to what I had to say?"

That took Vanessa by surprise. She was expecting a fight. _Would I have given her one, in better circumstances?_ Shaw didn't want to dwell on that. "Why should I listen to anything that comes out of your mouth," she snapped, rekindling her anger.

"Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?" Shaw said, voice sharp.

Surprisingly, Vanessa held her tongue and waited.

Shaw clutched his coffee mug. He took a drink. It was strong and bitter, and it was damn near a delicacy at this point, despite the fact that Dalaran had a reputation for notoriously bad coffee. "I was among the first to hold you when you were born, you know."

There was a beat of silence. "What?" she asked.

"Your father insisted I did. I didn't want to, you were so small and I was worried I'd drop you or something." Shaw nearly smiled at the memory. It seemed like lifetimes ago. "We grew up together. We were..." he paused. "We were good friends, your father and I."

"You had him killed.”

"Yes," Shaw admitted. "And you were there when your father tried to slit my throat, a decade before I ever even ordered his death. You were young, I would be surprised if you remembered that, but it happened; I have the scar to prove it." After another beat of silence, he added, "Understand that I never wanted him dead."

"Then why did you?"

"It was my job."

Vanessa scoffed with disgust. "If he was your friend, then why would you ever even consider killing him?"

"Because the situation wasn't black and white," Shaw snapped. "Many factors were at play that led up to the riots your father started. But there is a reason why he didn't die until the Defias kidnapped King Varian, until he started threatening a mutual friend of ours."

"You were working for the King, you could have done something—"

"Done what?" Shaw asked. "I wasn't in my position back then. I didn't have the political sway I do now. The entire house of nobles was hellbent on the shortchanging of the Stonemasons and there was nothing I could do to stop it."

It wasn't the entire truth, but it wasn't too far off, and it was the truth Shaw came to terms with.

"Vanessa," Shaw started. "I am sorry that you were set on this way, that you feel as if you have to live up to what your father was to everyone."

"You don't know what I feel," Vanessa said, her voice wavering with anger.

"I think you'd find that I do, but that's neither here nor there." Shaw held his chin high. "You wanted to hear my piece, there it is. You weren't the only one hurt by your father's death."

"You don't have the _right_ to be hurt by it."

Shaw looked down at his coffee again. "Perhaps not.”

* * *

Shaw was aching to shave. He hated beards, they were too itchy on his face and too hot to practically keep up with Stormwind's humid climate. He never understood how people could keep beards. 

_You look good with one, you know,_ Jorach had said before he left for Stormwind.

 _I'll think of your words when I shave it off,_ Shaw had replied.

Now, as Shaw waited in the Petitioner's Chamber in the keep, watched by two nervous guards, he wanted nothing more than to take a blade to his facial hair. He was beginning to regret putting it off for the sake of the ensuing conversation.

One of the guards shifted. While Shaw knew that his presence was naturally unsettling to many stationed in the Keep—he was a bad omen, Mrs. Alexston had put it—the fact that he just suddenly had a well grown out beard that he didn't have this morning was probably putting them on edge. "How's the keep been?" Shaw asked conversationally. He had a captive audience, so he thought, why not.

"Sir?" one asked.

Shaw picked at his cuticles. "Been quiet lately?"

The questioning made the guards more visibly uncomfortable. Shaw would be a liar if he said he didn't get a little enjoyment from them struggling. "Well, uh, other than the incident at King Varian's funeral—"

Shaw looked over to the guard, and he all but flinched. Before Shaw could press, however, the doors opened, and Valeera confidently strode in with Pr— with _King_ Anduin in tow. "Leave us," Valeera ordered the guards, and they bowed politely before all but scrambling out of the room.

"Your majesty," Shaw greeted, turning towards him and bowing.

Anduin, immediately, was on alert. Shaw blamed the beard; after all, that was why he didn't shave it yet. "What's going on?" he asked, looking to Valeera as the doors came closed behind them.

"There is no easy way to put this, so I'll be blunt," Shaw started, getting Anduin's attention back onto him. "I was captured on the Broken Shore before the battle, and a dreadlord has been impersonating me since."

Anduin blinked once, then twice. "Pardon?"

"It's true," Valeera said. "There is a guild I work with that has been working for the past two months to find where they were holding them. Shaw and two others just dispatched the dreadlord."

Anduin dipped his head, looking down at the table that separated Shaw and the two. "You never made it off the Broken Shore?"

"That's correct," Shaw responded in a quiet voice.

The unspoken implication was there. They all knew it. None of them said it. Rather, they sat in a somewhat uncomfortable, somber silence as the new king processed the information.

"Are you all right?" King Anduin asked.

Shaw was momentarily caught flat-footed by the admittedly predictable question. "I— yes. I wouldn't be here otherwise."

King Anduin did not like that answer, judging from the grimace he didn’t hide. "There's a lot of space between alright and dead."

"I'll need some time to recover, of course, but I am still fit to perform my duties as spymaster."

"Take as long as you need. We can talk more once you're recovered."

* * *

“Ah, Master Shaw,” King Anduin said in a warm voice, “you’re looking remarkably better.”

Shaw did not feel anywhere near remarkably better, but if he stayed at home any longer he was going to lose it. He needed to get himself in motion and keep up that momentum to keep himself sane. “Your majesty,” he greeted, beginning to dip down into a bow.

“Don’t bow,” Anduin said quickly. Shaw looked up and raised an eyebrow. “It… makes me uncomfortable.”

Curious. “Very well,” Shaw said, giving him an acknowledging nod. “I’ve been told you wanted to see me as soon as I returned to my duties.”

“Yes.” Anduin folded his hands together, and the apart again. “I am… not as prepared as I thought I was to take the mantle of King. There’s much I don’t know, and I’m struggling to find my place in what I do.” Anduin looked over to Shaw. “Everyone has always spoken highly of you, that your loyalty and commitment is second to none, and Father himself always held you in high regard. I would like, if you’d be willing, for you to be one of my advisors.”

Shaw clamped down on the bemused expression he almost showed. “Are you certain?”

Anduin looked confused in turn. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“SI:7 had a huge security breach—”

“One that you immediately worked to fix, despite being indisposed. Mistakes will happen. You proved that you can handle them quickly and efficiently, and I think that’s reason enough.”

Shaw supposed he could see the logic in that, even if he felt as if he shouldn’t be warranted that. He wasn’t in a position to question the king. “I’ll gladly accept the position, your majesty.”

“Excellent,” Anduin smiled. “I feel there is strength in a diversity of ideas, and, well, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to think like a spymaster.”

Probably not, though Shaw didn’t say that. “There’s wisdom in those words. I will serve to the best of my ability, as always.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

* * *

Boralus was a rung above Sithilus, in Shaw’s books. Cold, wet, filled with marshes and muck and enemies that hated what Shaw stood for. At least in Sithilus, him and Renzik were both out in the field. The two of them could bounce ideas off each other and crack a couple jokes every now and again. It made the sword impaling the planet and possibly ending life as they knew it imminently a less frightening thought. But with a semi-permanent station in Boralus, that meant Renzik was assigned desk duty in Stormwind, and Shaw was sitting in rain storms with Alleria Windrunner.

“I didn’t think I could miss rain,” Alleria remarked during the third bad storm while they were docked there, which was still in their first week. “After a thousand years, I had forgotten what it was like.” Her lips curled with disgust. “I’m over it now.”

Shaw, holding all the maps and reports in his arms as they took what shelter they could under the mizzenmast, did not care to comment on that, already soaked through and annoyed.

Morale was low on that ship for a good time while the entourage of mercenary adventurers did their thing and made good allies of the Kul Tirans on behalf of the Alliance. There was little they could do out of Boralus’ harbor until that good faith was built, so they sat and waited. As it were, Shaw and Alleria had little to do at the start of this war other than push papers and talk.

“So,” Alleria started one late afternoon. “I hear that you were held by the Burning Legion for an extended time.”

“I was.”

“...It’s not an enjoyable experience to endure.”

“It’s not.”

As it turned out, they were both bad at small talk, and just pushed papers most of the time.

“Two months is a remarkable amount of time to be held and still come out whole.”

Shaw was nearly certain that was supposed to be a compliment. He glanced at her, holding her gaze for a moment before looking away again.

It was strange, those first several weeks in Boralus, with the company that was kept. One night, when Shaw was terrified of sleeping, he relented and went to dig through Steelspark’s box of junk in hopes that she had a spare block of wood he could borrow and then never return. Gnomes tended to be hoarders, for better or for worse, and if Steelspark had something he could whittle, then it would be for better. He should find a more permanent source if he’s going to be here for a while, however.

While heading down the stairs to the hull, Shaw spotted Keeshan, sharpening a kukri by lantern light. Shaw paused to look at him at the landing. “You’re up late,” Shaw remarked.

Keeshan grunted. “Can’t sleep,” he said. And then, after a second thought, he looked up to Shaw. “Not used to sleeping on a ship.”

It was a blatant lie. Shaw knew his SI:7 profile included the phrase “frequent nightmares, often wakes up screaming,” and Keeshan knew that Shaw knew what was in his file.

Shaw lingered for a moment. “I can’t sleep either,” he confessed. “Because of the ship.” 

There was a look of understanding across Keeshan’s face at that, and Shaw continued, “Would you like some coffee?”

That night was spent with Keeshan sharpening his blades and Shaw whittling a bird, mugs of coffee sat between them, in the quiet company of a kindred spirit.

* * *

“We found a suitable ship for azerite reclamations,” Wyrmbane said to Shaw, looking at him pensively under his helm.

They had been searching for a while for a trustworthy Kul Tiran ship to gather azerite for them while in this war limbo, and it was, until now, a rather fruitless effort. Few people wanted to work for Alliance gold that were also reliable enough to be in charge with the most dangerous substance on the face of Azeroth. “What’s the catch?” Shaw asked, because there always was one.

“It will be Captain Flynn Fairwind’s ship,” Wyrmbane said.

Shaw frowned. He had not met Fairwind personally, but he had heard enough about him. “I thought you said you found a suitable ship.”

“Captain Fairwind’s ship is much smaller than the _Wind’s Redemption,_ while still being suitable for hauling a fair amount of azerite,” Wyrmbane explained.

Shaw did not like Wyrmbane; he did not agree with many of his tactical decisions, or with him as a person, but he had thought the man had more sense than this. “With _respect,_ High Commander, Captain Fairwind is a pirate.”

 _“Was_ a pirate,” Wyrmbane corrected, regarding Shaw. “We’ve exhausted our options in this. The harbormaster has vouched for him, and he’s willing to work for us.”

“If we let in every criminal that was vouched for in charge of such important matters, the Horde would have won a decade ago.”

“From my understanding, many of SI:7’s founding members were common thieves picked from the Stockades,” Wyrmbane challenged. 

Shaw blinked in surprise. Well, he didn’t have a rebuttal to that, so much so that he sat and let the silence fester for a moment before clasping his hands tightly behind him. That was entirely unexpected from the paladin, and Shaw didn’t quite well know how to react. “What would you like me to do?” he asked after a moment, conceding to the older man on the argument.

“Just make sure he doesn’t have anything in his past that seems to be too much of a risk,” Wyrmbane said.

“I’ll see that it’s done.”

“Good, dismissed.”

* * *

“I hardly see why I and a champion need tertiary assistance,” Shaw said as he stood in the Zuldazar jungle, watching Magister Umbric page through a thoroughly used notebook.

Lady Jaina Proudmoore, now in her new role as the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras, seemed to have been looking for new and fascinating ways to annoy Shaw. Undermining his capabilities in recovering a bauble from a vault may not have been at the top of the list, but it was quite up there. “There’s nothing wrong with a little assistance, Master Shaw,” she remarked.

“Perhaps not, but there’s an added risk the more people come with,” he pointed out.

“I have confidence in Captain Fairwind,” she said simply. Everyone must have believed that words like that were all it took to placate Shaw, and that was getting insulting. “He may not have the same amount of skill you do, but he still is quite capable, and I find that he’s a very trustworthy person.”

“So I am told.”

“Remember, spymaster, he was crucial in my return. Without him, I most likely wouldn’t be here.”

Shaw held back his sigh. Even King Greymane seemed taken with the pirate—an incredible shock to Shaw—so much so that he entrusted such a critical task to the man. And he _did_ help out in the end. For how much his reputation preceded him, he did manage to keep his nose clean for the most part, and Shaw had to give him that, as reluctantly as he must.

“I’m not late, am I?”

Shaw turned to see who approached, and oh Light help him, that was an attractive man.

With a wide smile and a slight hand wave, Captain Flynn Fairwind came to join them. In true Kul Tiran fashion, he was well built and remarkably taller than Shaw, a beard framing his face and long auburn hair tied back. Shaw glanced at Jaina, and the pleased grin in Shaw’s direction she quickly tried to hide confirmed all of Shaw’s suspicions. “Not at all,” she said to Fairwind. “Captain Fairwind, this is the Spymaster of SI:7, Mathias Shaw.” Shaw gave a courteous nod. “And this is Magister Umbric.” Umbric looked up from his notebook, giving a quick nod before looking back to his notes.

“You’re the bloke I’m going in with?” Fairwind asked Shaw, looking him over.

“That is correct,” Shaw said, watching him with a purposely cold gaze. “Your reputation precedes you,” he continued, echoing his earlier thoughts.

Fairwind found his eyes and tilted his head at that, like a dog hearing a strange noise. The grin he gave was lopsided because of it. “Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”

Shaw narrowed his eyes. “I think you know your own history well enough to come to the conclusion on your own.”

“Usually, yes, but that depends on what you've heard,” Fairwind said. “Was it my knife juggling skills? Perhaps my ability to hold my breath for ten minutes?”

Shaw raised an eyebrow and hazarded a disbelieving look Lady Jaina’s way. She was all too pleased with herself in this, if her smiling eyes and stifled grin was anything to go by.

It would be a long day.

* * *

One of the traits that Shaw would grow to appreciate about Fairwind was how direct the man he could be about things he was curious about. He let things stew for a time, before the man's curiosity got the best of him and he sought out an answer. This time, while Fairwind was loitering on the _Wind's Redemption,_ he asked Shaw, "Why do you sound like you chew glass?"

Shaw raised an eyebrow at Fairwind and his brave choice of words, Alleria doing her best to stifle her laughter beside Shaw. The two had been going over and compiling reported war threats in the area and around Azeroth before the interruption, as always. "Pardon?" He asked, not knowing how to even approach such a question head-on.

"So, you're a spy, yeah?"

Light. Alleria turned away fully now, shoulders shaking in Shaw's peripherals. "I believe that is my profession, yes," Shaw said, crossing his arms and leaning against the mast.

"Why would a spy have a hoarse voice?" Fairwind asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion. "I reckon you don't talk enough to overuse it, and I would think you aren't yelling a lot just by virtue of being a spy."

"Excellent detective work," Shaw replied, amused. The truth of the matter was that his accent was one of the little things he slowly reclaimed of himself. Long gone were the days since Shaw had cared for hiding his accent, and he had slowly made his way in undoing the fact that he hid it, revealing it incrementally until no one even batted an eye. It had worked well for most people he associated with, and those he was new to meet didn't seem to put thought to it.

Except for Fairwind, apparently.

That being said, he wasn't questioning Shaw's _accent,_ per se, just the hoarseness of his voice. With that knowledge, Shaw decided to have some fun with this. "It's my accent," Shaw admitted freely.

Fairwind, immediately, predictably, did not believe Shaw, which brought mild amusement to him. Fairwind narrowed his eyes. "I'm being serious," he said.

Shaw shrugged, acting indifferent. "As am I."

Fairwind sized Shaw up, as if he could read Shaw to determine the truth. Shaw had been doing what he did for far too long for that to be the case, and he watched the eventual frustration and disappointment cross Fairwind's face.

"Wyrmbane!" Fairwind bellowed out. Shaw glanced across the deck, watching Wyrmbane act like he didn't hear Fairwind. After a moment, Fairwind got the hint, turning towards Wyrmbane and saying, more politely, "High Commander?"

"How can I help you, Captain Fairwind?" Wyrmbane responded.

"Where's Master Shaw from?"

Even from across the boat and under his plate helm, Shaw could see Wyrmbane's eyes narrowed in their direction. He took a moment to read the room before saying, "Stormwind?"

Shaw knew Wyrmbane knew nothing of where Shaw was from. Perhaps he had suspicions, but Shaw highly doubted it. The two had only interacted indirectly before the Fourth War, when the 7th Legion was stationed in Northrend and Shaw's spies were to keep Wyrmbane informed on Scourge troop numbers. It wasn't the most useless job his agents had to perform, but it was up there.

Now, Shaw could tell Fairwind had come to the conclusion that Shaw wasn't lying to him, perhaps by the way he made no effort to stop the conversation from reaching Wyrmbane, but it was clear that Stormwind was a wrong answer. "Are you sure?" Fairwind asked.

Wyrmbane glanced to Shaw, who just shrugged. "His family name has been in Stormwind for as far as I remember."

Fairwind turned to Shaw, scowling. Shaw gave a smug smirk in response. "You're a dreadful man," he muttered.

"Do some more of that detective work, Captain," Shaw said. "You're a capable man. Figure it out."

Fairwind looked to Alleria, who had managed to compose herself during the conversation. "I didn't know him before now," she answered the unasked question. "My husband, Turalyon, might have at one point, but it has been a thousand years since then. Besides, he's stationed in Arathi currently."

Fairwind looked back to Shaw, saying, "you won't get away with this."

Shaw didn't bother to hide his amusement. "With having an accent?"

Fairwind's annoyance faltered for a moment as he thought over that. "No," he said, "being a smug bastard."

"I think I have already," Shaw pointed out.

Fairwind then thought that over, pressing his lips together has he worked through that. "Y'know what I mean," he said finally before stalking off the boat.

"I must ask," Alleria started as the two watched him disappear into the harbormaster's office. "What was the point of that?"

Shaw shrugged. "A little payback for being a nuisance, and it'll keep him out of my hair for a time."

"I feel as if this will only bite you in the future."

"Possibly. But he's harmless." Shaw looked back to the mission table, "now, where were we?"

It took a week before Fairwind showed himself again, knocking on Shaw's cabin door late one evening. He opened it before Shaw could say anything, and Shaw looked up from the reports on his desk. "I know it!" He exclaimed.

"Captain Fairwind," Shaw murmured, continuing with the pretense of polite conversation, "please, come in, how are you?"

"Shut up, I know where you're from."

Shaw chose to ignore the brashness of Fairwind's words. "Please enlighten me, then."

"You're from Westfall," Fairwind said with much conviction.

Shaw hummed with surprise. Well, look at that. "Good job, Fairiwnd, I didn't expect—"

"Didn't think I could figure it out?" Fairwind interrupted, smug.

"I thought you'd eventually give up and resort to bothering me to try and get the answer instead," Shaw corrected. "You surprised me. May I ask how you figured that out?"

"Well, I was thinking about people who had a rough voice, since you said it was an accent," Fairwind started as Shaw took his mug of coffee in hand. It would be a late night tonight, like most nights, and while he could stay up without any stimulants, he would much rather not. "And I was thinking, I was pretty sure I've met mainlanders with a rough voice before. I asked a few old friends, the more questionable lot of people, and they pointed out that there were a few start-up pirates out in Westf—"

Shaw choked on his coffee.

Realistically, Shaw knew that the Defias could be considered pirates. They were building a ship in the Deadmines, enlisting the help of pirates out in Stranglethorn to do so. He knew, he _knew_ the Defias were technically pirates. But Fairwind saying it aloud felt like a kick to Shaw's throat. 

"Tides, you alright?" Fairwind asked as Shaw put his coffee on his desk and covered his mouth with his elbow as he struggled to cough the coffee out of his lungs. Shaw nodded, and after a few moments, cleared his throat. "I didn't mean to almost kill you with this," Fairwind said, a slight grin as he tried to lighten the mood. Another trait Shaw would grow to appreciate.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Shaw said. "I just didn't expect to hear about the Defias in this."

"Did I strike a nerve?" Fairwind asked, innocently enough.

"No," Shaw said at first. "No, it's just been a while since I've given them thought."

"Ah, so there's a story there," Fairwind grinned.

"Yes." Shaw breathed in, careful not to sigh. "There is."

"What do I gotta do to get that story?"

Shaw shook his head. “You already know more than most.”

Fairwind seemed less than enthused about that answer, but he nonetheless accepted it. "Alright. And don't worry, I'll keep your little secret," he said.

Shaw softened at that, just a bit. "I highly doubt that, but thank you."

* * *

Shaw felt a fair amount of blood dripping from his nose, to the point where if he were to breathe in too deeply, he’d start choking on the metallic taste. “Well,” Fairwind said, his eyes kind as he cleaned up the blood with a rag. “It’s not broken, so you have that going for you. And for me; I don’t think Wyrmbane would be too pleased with me if you came back to the ship with a crooked schnozz.”

Shaw nearly snorted at that. “You wouldn’t have been in trouble,” he said.

“Probably not, but that man has perfected the ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ look, and I don’t think I can handle that after tonight.” They were seated on the stoop of a business that was closed for the night, not too far from the dive bar that just had an all-out brawl break out. “How did you know I was in there, anyway?”

“I didn’t.” Shaw said. An agent sent word that there was azerite trading within some of the less reputable parts of the city, and Shaw had taken the opportunity to take a walk and look for anything suspicious. A bar fight was what he found, and it was pure coincidence that Fairwind happened to be there and in need of some sort of backup. “I have been told that I have an… uncanny ability for being in the right place at the right time.

“Suppose something like that’s probably good in the business,” Fairwind remarked. 

The grin on Fairwind’s face was soft as he cleaned up the blood dripping from Shaw, filled with far more emotion than Shaw’s been looked at for a long time. It was something he was unaccustomed to, and it was enough to make him shift in his seat and glance towards anywhere else. “I am more than capable of taking care of this myself, Captain,” he protested.

“It’s called being nice, you dolt,” Fairwind politely chided. “What kind of person would I be if you got me out of a scrape and I didn’t even help patch you up?”

Shaw frowned and glanced back over to him. “What did you call me?”

Fairwind’s grin widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “A dolt, Spymaster Shaw. What are you going to do about it?”

That was bait, clear as day, and Shaw shouldn’t rise up to it. He really shouldn’t. It’d only encourage Fairwind. “Perhaps I’ll tell Wyrmbane so he can give you that look next time he sees you,” Shaw said anyway.

“I repent, I repent!” Fairwind said between his laughter. He really did have a stunning smile. Shaw glanced away and reprimanded himself internally over that; he couldn’t go around having little crushes like he was still a kid out in Westfall, not to someone who was reporting to him, and especially not to someone who was rumored to have eyes for the Fordragon girl. His heart ached strangely at the thought, clawing from within his ribcage, and he did his best to ignore it. “You look like you’re thinking up a storm,” Fairwind remarked. Shaw hadn’t noticed the lull that fell between them until then.

Shaw just hummed and looked at the angry red mark that showed from underneath the stubble across Fairwind’s jawline. That’d be a nasty bruise come morning. “How’s your jaw?” he asked instead.

Fairwind hesitated for a moment, just long enough for Shaw to realize that he was pausing. There was the sound of someone being thrown out of a building, no doubtedly someone getting kicked from the bar. “I’ve had worse,” he shrugged. “Bit my tongue when I got hit though, and I don’t think I’ll ever recover from that.” He removed the rag to check Shaw’s nose, and from the scowl that darkened Fairwind’s face for a heartbeat, Shaw would guess that he was still bleeding. “So, how was your first bar fight? Have fun?”

With a frown, Shaw said, “what makes you think that was my first bar fight?”

Fairwind blinked. “I mean, well, you’re you.” Shaw raised an eyebrow, and Fairwind struggled to continue. “Mister stoic serious spymaster. Quite frankly, I’m surprised you can find a bar.”

Shaw fought back the urge to roll his eyes. “I had a friend that convinced me to take the day off to do the Kirin Tor Tavern Crawl with him.”

“You doing a tavern crawl is an almost impossible thought, you know.”

“I didn’t drink much,” Shaw said. “Long story short, I have in fact been in a bar fight, and I have been in bars.”

“Good friend?”

That was a strange line of questioning. “Disbelieving I have friends now, Captain?”

“Had friends, by your words.”

“He passed some time ago.”

Fairwind frowned. “My condolences,” he said. It sounded genuine. “Was he an assassin too?”

“An architect, actually,” Shaw said.

There was silence for a beat as Fairwind thought that over. “Is there a connection there? Do architects help out assassins in some way?”

“We grew up together, more or less.” Shaw didn’t know how they got onto this topic, or why he was sharing this so freely. The ache in his chest persisted throughout the conversation, subsiding into a dull throb that Shaw was well acquainted with after these past couple of years. “He wasn’t a fighter, but I knew he’d have my back in one all the same.”

Fairwind grinned. “All you need in a mate, in my opinion.”

They probably would have been fast friends, Baros and Fairwind. Shaw pushed the thought out of his head as fast as it came. He had better things to do than think about such things. “I need to get back to the _Wind’s Redemption,”_ Shaw said.

It was only another quick flash, but Shaw saw the disappointment cross Fairwind’s face at that before he mustered himself into higher spirits. “And here I thought we were having a nice time together,” he said with a smile that was just a tad too forced to be authentic.

“You have a strange definition of nice time.” Shaw took the rag from Fairwind, their fingers bumping awkwardly in the motion, and removed it to check the blood flow. Everything smelled like metal. He had forgotten how uncomfortable bloody noses were; it has been a long time since he had one.

“I don’t think your mustache will ever recover, either,” Fairwind commented, and Shaw threw him a warning glance. He just smiled, but he looked as if he wanted to say something else.

“What?” Shaw asked.

“Nothing.” Fairwind ducked his head away, avoiding Shaw’s gaze. “I better head home anyway. Early morning, and all that.” Shaw was well aware that the _Middenwake_ rarely left port before midmorning, but he decided against calling the captain on his lie. “Have a good night, Spymaster.”

Shaw was shaken with the feeling that somehow, he had screwed up something. “You as well, Captain.”

* * *

The smell of gunpowder and blood filled the air of Zandalar. Shaw rarely has been on the battlefield, and it was always a strange and blood-pumping experience every time. He felt far too exposed. “Hold this ground, 7th Legion!” he called to the frontline, a stalwart wall between the escaping party and the forces of the Horde. “We need our ships to get away!”

“Leaving so soon, Shaw?” Someone called, and Shaw looked up the pyramid to see Nathanos Blightcaller, standing on the edge of the level he was perched on, watching them while the Horde soldiers fought the 7th Legion. His axes were slick with blood. “Oh, what a pity,” he cooed. “I’ve got an arrow with your name _carved into it.”_

How sentimental. Even at the taunting threat, a strange mix of emotions bubbled up in Shaw at the sight of Blightcaller. Shaw had been genuinely upset at the news that Nathanos had died, and that his body couldn’t be recovered. He had sent so many people to try and recover it, only for all of them to die, and at Blightcaller’s hands. They were enemies now, sworn to opposite sides, but part of him still mourned the loss of someone he trusted.

“We’ll cross paths again, Blightcaller,” Shaw called up to him. “I’ll see you dead or in chains before this war ends, I promise you.”

Blightcaller fixed him with a mocking stare before his attention was pulled elsewhere, and one of his axes gets planted firmly into the chest of a 7th Legion marine. Shaw turned away, resolving himself on getting the hell out of here.

* * *

Shaw listened to the creak of a floorboard in the hall leading to his office, not bothering to look up from the missive he was reading. He had a whetstone in one hand and a knife in the other, keeping his hands busy as he decoded the message from one of his agents in his head. Moments later, there was a knock at his door. "Come in, your majesty," Shaw called.

The door opened, and Shaw could see the king enter in his peripherals. "How did you know it was me?" Anduin asked with mild surprise in his voice.

Shaw didn't stop sharpening his knife, but he spared the young king a glance, giving him a respectful bow of the head. "I have my ways," he replied. In reality, Anduin was the only one who could make it to Shaw's office without being stopped by an agent, and was the only one who would both knock on Shaw's door and walk across that croaking floorboard. It was a good early warning system, at least. "How can I be of service?"

"I came to apologize," Anduin said.

Shaw wracked his brain for something that the young king had reason to apologize to him about. "In regards to what?" Shaw asked, failing to come to an immediate answer.

"When I raised my voice towards you," Anduin started, and when Shaw didn't catch on, continued, "when I was... frustrated with the lack of good news in regards to finding N'Zoth."

Oh, that. Shaw stopped sharpening his knife. "If I may speak freely, your majesty, I hardly minded it." After years of serving under Varian Wrynn, the moment hadn't even raised an eyebrow to Shaw.

"That doesn't make it right," the king sighed. He finally entered the room properly, turning to close the door behind him. "You are a well respected member of the Alliance," he said towards the door, "I've known you all my life, and yet I know next to nothing about you."

Shaw wondered where this was going, studying Anduin. Head bowed, shoulders locked, most likely steeling himself. "I feel as if I regard you with more dislike than you deserve, and even if you aren't bothered by it, I still want to make things right."

Light, this kid. Shaw set his dagger and whetstone down on his desk before leaning back in his chair. Anduin finally turned to look at Shaw, now holding his head high in the way he did when he was trying not to seem nervous or conflicted. It was a forceful motion, too rigid for it to come off as natural confidence. "I'd like to sit down and get to know you, if you'd be willing."

Shaw's gaze softened; for all his gripes with Anduin, he was still a goodhearted young man doing what he thought was best, and here he was, standing in front of Shaw to try and extend some sort of olive branch. And he was nervous about it too, about Shaw's response.

* * *

"What's this about, Shaw?" Anduin asked, a confused look across his face as he entered the courtyard.

"You said you wanted to get to know me," Shaw said, sitting himself down on a bench off to the side, tilting his head slightly in a summoning gesture. Anduin, wary but curious, crossed the courtyard to join Shaw on the bench. Shaw handed him a piece of wood, just large enough to still fit in one's hand, and then extended a knife towards him, hilt first. Anduin raised an eyebrow, but took both. "Well, I like whittling."

That lit up Anduin's face. "Really?" He asked.

"Have you ever whittled before, your majesty?"

"I can't say I have," he admitted.

"It's something I do to keep my hands busy." Shaw looked down to the piece of wood in his own hand, watching the first knife-stroke that sent a curl of wood to the ground. "It's a straightforward concept, you carve something by shaving off small parts of the wood."

"What do you usually carve?" Anduin asked.

Shaw glanced over to Anduin as he made an unsteady first swipe across the wood. "Birds."

That drew a slight, quiet laugh from the young king. "I would have never expected that from you."

"What did you expect?" Shaw asked, voice light.

Anduin hesitated in responding, focusing on his piece of wood. Shaw looked at him. The signs of stress were starting to show across his features, a weariness underlying all his expressions, the dark circles that hung under his eyes. "I don't know," he said with a shrug. "I didn't have any inclination as to who you were besides work-oriented."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds being their knives working the wood and the breeze that rustled the trees and bushes in the courtyard. Eventually, that silence was broken by Anduin, saying, "so tell me about yourself."

Shaw carefully brought his knife around in a curve over the edge of the wood block. "Well, I grew up in Westfall. My mother died when I was young, and for a time, I lived with the Alexstons." Anduin paused beside Shaw, and Shaw could nearly see the man try and work out the familiarity of the name. "Baros Alexston was the chief architect in Stormwind for most of your life," Shaw reminded him.

"That's right," Anduin said. "He led rebuilding efforts in Stormwind after the Cataclysm and went to Draenor."

Shaw nodded. "I was good friends with him as a kid, and I grew up alongside him and another architect, Edwin VanCleef."

That name clearly rang more of a bell to Anduin, as his movements faltered a bit, leaving an unnatural divot in his woodwork. Shaw waited for a response from Anduin, seeing how the young man wanted to tread this conversation. Anduin knew of Edwin, of course, the man that was indirectly responsible for his mother's death. "That must have been hard for you," he settled on, voice quiet as he grasped for words delicate enough. "Having to take care of... the situation."

"It was a necessity of my job," Shaw said, taking a moment to make sure his bird was coming out even; it had been a while since he last whittled one. "More people than just your father were victims of Onyxia. I dare say all of Westfall was."

Shaw remembered when he saw that the beautiful green fields of Westfall had turned yellowed, remembered the anger and grief he felt towards the entire Defias situation, and how it blossomed again when Katrana Prestor was revealed to be a scheming black dragon that had her claws in every political issue in Stormwind. Even now, anger flared up at the memory, but it had been a long time since it burned Shaw's heart. It was nothing but embers lighting orange in the breeze now.

"What was he like, Edwin VanCleef?" Anduin asked.

Shaw sighed. "He was an idealist, but it eventually gave way to cynicism, like it so often does. He had grand ideas and the conviction to stick to them, and he was doing what he thought was right."

Anduin had a habit of forgetting himself when he wasn't properly 'on'; if he was meeting nobles or advisors, he could compose himself with all the grace and dignity required of a ruler. But when the circumstances didn't require it, and he was allowed to loosen up on the formality, he, on the rare occasion, forgot his manners. Shaw was well aware of this, and it rarely bothered him, but it didn't make it any less jarring to hear Anduin ask, "do you think he was right?"

Shaw only hesitated for a moment before returning his focus to his bird. "That was bold," he murmured.

Anduin was immediately overtaken by sheepishness. "I apologize," he said quickly, "I meant no disrespect by it. I just..." The young king struggled to drive his knife through a sizable chunk of the wood. "I'm sorry."

The silence they lapsed into was much less comfortable this time. Shaw was never one to feel the need to break the silence, but it felt necessary now, especially since he wasn't actually bothered by the young king's words. "I could sympathize with the argument, and I could see his side of things, but at the end of the day, I had my duty to Stormwind. If I thought he was right or not was besides the point."

"You were good friends, yes?" Anduin pushed, treading carefully as he did so.

"Yes.”

"Forgive me if this is bold as well, again, I mean no disrespect, but why didn't you go with him, if you were good friends?" Anduin traced a thumb along the wood grain. "What stopped you?"

"You seem to forget what my job is," Shaw said. He rounded a corner with a delicate touch. "I wasn't spymaster yet, but I was working within the keep and close with your father. As much as I had an option in concept to throw it away, it wasn't one I could take."

"Why not?"

Shaw thought for a moment. "Let's say that Baine Bloodhoof incited an attack on Stormwind citizens. You go to speak with him, and find his reasons can be justified to some. You might be even sympathetic to the reasoning. And he tells you that he'll grant you safety in Mulgore if you renounce the crown, and in no uncertain terms, he will burn Stormwind down, even if you continue to be King. What choice would you take?"

"That wouldn't happen," Anduin quickly shot, "Baine wouldn't do that."

"Perhaps not, but did you think I expected a close friend of mine to create the Defias?"

Anduin was quiet for a moment. "It's still different," he said, voice quiet.

"How so?"

"I was born without a choice as to what I do."

Shaw softened. "So was I," he admitted.

Silence filled between them once again, a strange, melancholic one that bred from their admissions. It stuck, hanging heavy in the air around them as they whittled. Anduin seemed on the verge of saying something for most of it, but he kept quiet, keeping an intense focus on his carving.

Anduin suddenly pulled his left hand back, cursing under his breath. Shaw looked over, concerned, before realizing what happened. "Cut yourself?" He asked, a slight grin to his voice.

"Maybe," Anduin said, balancing his project and his knife on his lap to free up his other hand.

"I didn't think I needed to warn you that the knife was sharp," Shaw said. "I'll be sure to do so moving forward."

Anduin threw him an amused look. "Ha ha," he said as he called upon the Light. "Thank you, though. For this. For your honesty."

Shaw bowed his head. "Of course, your majesty."

There was the sound of someone entering the courtyard, and Shaw turned his head to see King Greymane, Anduin following his gaze. "There you two are," Greymane said. "I must admit, when I heard you two were speaking in private, I had assumed you were up to one of your schemes."

Anduin chuckled. "No, not today, Genn. Master Shaw was showing me a hobby of his, whittling."

Genn snorted. "And here I thought our spymaster didn’t know how to have fun."

Shaw turned his attention back to his bird and muttered, “it’s no game of fetch…”

Anduin inhaled sharply, and Shaw glanced over to see him swallowing down laughter.

* * *

"So," Flynn panted as he broke away from Shaw, "when's the last time you've done this?"

"That's a rather rude question to ask," Shaw mused, not really bothered by the boldness despite his words.

"I just want to know how hard I have to try to impress you," Flynn said before he began to kiss his way down Shaw's jaw and neck.

Shaw tilted his head back, running one hand through Flynn's loose hair and another across his muscular back. "With someone I care about?"

That made Flynn stop on his tracks. "You don't strike me as the type to do this with someone you don't," he said, sounding confused.

Shaw decided that he didn't want to explain that right now. Or ever, actually, but especially now. "Fair assessment," he said, "It's... been a while." Flynn made a noise of acknowledgement against Shaw's collarbone, and Shaw knew that it wasn't a good answer. "Last I've done this, the king wasn't born yet."

"Oh," Flynn said. He rose up to press a kiss to Shaw, more sweet than anything else, as if it was a quiet thank you for the honesty. "Bar's pretty low, then."

"The fact that we're doing this at all exceeds my expectations."

"You and me both," Flynn grinned. "What's that make me then? Number two? Number three?"

Shaw looked at Flynn and traced a thumb across his jawline. "Two, but if you don't hurry up and do something, it's going to stay one."

Flynn harrumphed, annoyance entirely too theatrical to be genuine. "I'd think the man who waited twenty bloody years would have some more patience."

Shaw smiled that time, infectious enough to spread to Flynn's face, and they both were kissing again.

* * *

The smell of rotting and fouled grain marred the feeling of home.

Shaw and Flynn rode on two horses through the dusty paths of Westfall. Shaw kept his eyes fixed forward, as dangerous as that could be. He warned Flynn that there were bandits out here, not particularly difficult but enough of a threat to keep wary of, and hoped he would be vigilant enough to keep watch for the both of them. He rather not be out here longer than possible.

“What happened to this place?”

Shaw hummed, raising his head to look back at Flynn. With a broad gesture towards the yellow fields, Flynn continued, “why does it all look like this?’

“The lands were abandoned. Two wars hit this place hard, and it never recovered. Everyone here struggles to get by.”

“Abandoned by who?” Flynn pressed, “the farmers, or the crown?”

“Both.”

The wind blew through, offering a slight reprieve from the humidity. “Surprising bit of honesty, for someone in your… line of work,” Flynn mused.

Shaw bowed his head down again. “This was home once,” was all he said. Flynn, thankfully, let him leave it at that, and they continued in silence towards Moonbrook.

They passed over a dried up riverbed. Decades ago, he killed a gnoll along this river. How much things have changed since then. Shaw raised his head enough to nod to his right. “See that old farmhouse?”

“Yeah?”

“I used to live over there, with a friend.”

“They still there?”

“No, his family moved out after the Second War.”

“That… thing always there?”

Shaw looked over again, and noted the magical storm that raged in the chasm not far. “That’s from the Cataclysm,” he said. “I don’t know exactly what it is.”

“This place can’t seem to catch a break.”

Shaw just hummed again, and Flynn didn’t say anything else.

They stopped at Sentinel Hill, spoke to Marshal Stoutmantle and recorded the artifacts kept there, and continued on their way to Moonbrook. Shaw looked up, as they approached, and felt a sour sense of melancholy at that back of his throat. He had been to Moonbrook on occasion, ages ago—lifetimes. It was nothing but a ghost town now. It hurt to see.

“Flynn,” Shaw started.

“Yeah?” Flynn immediately maneuvered his horse to be beside Shaw’s, looking over at him with an open and slightly pitying expression. Shaw didn’t like that. He kept his eyes on Moonbrook.

“If anyone here finds out what my job is and what we’re doing here, we will be attacked. That’s a certainty.” Shaw raised his chin. “We’re just staying the night before heading to Stranglethorn.”

“What’s the catch?” Flynn asked.

Shaw pressed his lips into a thin line before speaking. “There’s an abandoned mine here I need to visit.” Flynn threw him a strange look, and Shaw avoided looking his way best he could. “I just need to see something for myself, alone.”

“You sure, mate?” The concern in Flynn’s voice was palpable.

Shaw took a deep breath. “I... owe it to someone.”

Flynn nodded. “I get that.” He reached a hand over to Shaw’s, balancing carefully over his horse. “Just… be careful.”

Shaw looked down at the hand, and turned his own hand to entwine his fingers with Flynn’s, squeezing and hoping the small gestured reassured him. “I will.”

* * *

Shaw knew he wasn’t alone.

He wasn’t one to make bets, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t running the odds that she’d be here. Fairly low, in Shaw’s books, but the odds always seemed to be against him. With a heavy sigh, he trudged through the damp cave, the smell of salt overpowering the deeper he went.

He was barely paying attention to the presence behind him, and it was nothing more than reflex as he grabbed the wrist that thrusted a dagger towards him. He didn't look over at her, not at first, he just held her wrist in a vice grip and kept his eyes forward. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,” Vanessa snapped.

Shaw glanced over. “You’re playing a dangerous game. Ravenholdt’s sway doesn’t reach this far south.”

“I could kill you, right here, right now.”

Shaw wrenched her wrist, twisting it in a way it didn’t naturally bend, sending Vanessa twisting after it. “You are picking fights you can’t win.”

“Says the man who came to the Deadmines,” she hissed out.

“I didn’t come here to fight you,” Shaw said, putting emphasis on his words by relaxing his grip on her just a touch, allowing her to get back into a comfortable position.

“Then why did you?” she asked.

“I have a ghost that needs to be put to rest.”

Vanessa’s gaze was critical, her eyes narrowed to slits. Shaw held eye contact without flinching. “Why should I let you take another step?”

Shaw sized her up, and, feeling bold in his call, let go of her wrist. If she struck, he could have a knife in her throat in the next instant, and he had various antivenoms with him to take care of whatever she coated her blades with. If worse came to worst, he could buy himself enough time to make it to the surface. “Let me close this chapter,” Shaw said, “please.”

* * *

"Oh Light," Shaw muttered to himself.

Flynn snorted, propping up on his elbow and looking to Shaw. "That bad?"

"Not that," Shaw said. Tonight, he shared a cramped bed with Flynn, tucked away in a dwarven-ran inn. The bed was barely large enough to fit Shaw lengthwise, which made it an interesting challenge for Flynn. "I just realized something."

"What's that?"

"I have a type."

Flynn collapsed back onto the bed in a fit of giggles. Shaw let him giggle, saying nothing. "And what would that be?" Flynn asked once he got a hold of himself, a searching hand finding Shaw's. Their fingers entwined as he continued, "Devilishly handsome? Rugged and well-traveled?"

"A strong, long haired man that struggles to be on the same side of the law as I," Shaw corrected.

Flynn had the decency to choke down his laughter this time. "You sure are something, you know that?" Shaw hummed in response, and Flynn rolled closer to Shaw, tangling his folded up limbs with Shaw's. "That's fine, though. My type seems to be people that shouldn't be giving me the light of day." There was a beat of silence. "And uptight older men."

It was Shaw's turn to snort, and that made Flynn continue. "It's true," he said. "I saw your stupid, laced-up armor and your few gray hairs and knew I was done for."

Since they were being honest, Shaw added, "In my defense, the other guy became a pirate _after_ we broke up."

He could practically feel Flynn grinning beside him as the man snickered. Shaw rolled over towards him, seeing the broad smile across his face in the low-light, the only light source in the room being a candle sitting on the side table behind Shaw. Shaw's heart felt full looking at Flynn, something he hadn't felt in a long while, and it was a feeling he didn't want to abandon anytime soon. He brought their hands between each other, pressing his lips to Flynn's knuckles. Flynn watched him, his features soft with endearment as he regarded Shaw.

"Would you be willing to do something crazy with me?" Shaw blurted suddenly, no longer willing to hold back the question. “When we’re done with this?”

Fairwind's grin grew wider. "Never thought I'd hear such words from you. What are you calling crazy?"

* * *

"Mathias."

The use of his first name startled Shaw from thought, and he blinked and looked over to Flynn. "Sorry, what?"

Flynn gave him a lopsided grin. "Just making sure you're still with me."

"I was... thinking," Shaw said. Arathi was always a place where the thoughts and feelings he would push down in Stormwind would be allowed, and looking upon the tall grass of Arathi today filled him with a deep, melancholic nostalgia. Homesickness, but not of home: of those who made him feel at home. "I come out here to think. Old habits and all that."

"Happen to be thinking about my question?"

They were playing a game before Shaw had mentally checked out. He closed his eyes, trying to think of what it was, and failing. "Remind me of it?"

"Worst thing you've ever done."

Shaw exhaled and thought about it. There were plenty of answers he could give, all equally true depending on how one was defining worst. However, most of those answers would be a bit of a mood kill, and he'd rather not do that. He ran his thumbs along the leather reins as he wracked his brain. "I think... it was the time that I had sex on a roof."

"The time you _what!?"_ Flynn exclaimed with utter disbelief.

"I believe you heard me."

"I'm sorry, but the thought of you doing something as... as _delinquent_ as that seems impossible."

Shaw shrugged. "I was young once. Full of bad ideas."

"You can't just say that you've done that without telling me the story," Flynn said, leaning forward against his horse to try to get more in Shaw's sight. There was little Flynn seemed to appreciate more than a good story, perhaps even including liquor.

He gave Flynn a glance, feeling the soft smile across his face at Flynn's enthusiasm. "Well, I was... younger. Twenty or so." He rolled his shoulders. "I was fooling around with an architect at the time, and we'd meet on the rooftops sometimes. Quiet up there, gives you a great view of everything, and no one tends to look up." The memory was... fond now, surprising Shaw. "We did it once, and then never again."

"That bad?"

"I was sore for a week."

Flynn grinned. "That's what's supposed to happen."

"Not when it's your back, it's not."

With a snicker, Flynn said, "I've done something similar. Not a roof, mind you. Crow's nest."

Shaw had been in the crow's nest of a ship once. Being perched high in such an unstable place made him nervous, easily able to be thrown from it and into the unforgiving sea. The idea of doing something indecent up there sparked more fear than excitement in Shaw. "Seems dangerous."

Flynn shrugged. "That was the fun of it, though when someone almost falls overboard, that's... less fun."

"I'll take your word for it."

Shaw expected that to be that, that a new question would be asked or Flynn would offer him to ask something instead, or perhaps just silence. "So," Flynn said instead, in that way he does when he's being cautious about what he was about to say. Shaw figured that it wasn't because he was cautious, but because he wanted the answer, and assumed that Shaw would be more forthcoming with things if he was careful about. “Same architect from the bar fight?”

Shaw took a moment to think of what he was referring to. “Oh, no. That was someone else. A mutual friend.”

“You hang out with a lot of architects, then?”

“They were childhood friends of mine.”

Flynn cracked a smile. “The thought of you being a little kid is scarcely imaginable, not going to lie.” Shaw didn’t have anything to say in response that wouldn’t sound melodramatic, so he said nothing in response. Flynn must have mistaken that for discomfort on the topic, and after a moment of deliberation, he opted for levity. "So, it was so bad, you broke up and never dated again."

"No," Shaw said. "I take my work seriously, there was a lot I had to do on a day-to-day basis, and... you know how I am."

Flynn hummed in affirmation.

"We broke things off, but we remained good friends."

"And you never, y'know, got back together?"

The somewhat fond memories turned bitter. "No, he committed high treason before that was on the table."

Flynn was silent for a moment. "I'm gonna be honest, that's not what I expected, but it seems like I should have."

Shaw looked over with a frown. "That makes it sound like my life is just some bawdy drama novel."

"Okay, but you do have to admit, a spy working for the king having a lover that betrays the kingdom is a _great_ idea for one."

Shaw groaned, not because it was an insult, but because he was probably right.

The rolling hills of Arathi stretched out before them, a cabin cresting the ridge. Shaw eyed it with caution as he and Flynn carried on down the well-worn trail. Nothing immediately seemed amiss, but with the fourth war, he still stood on edge as they drew close.

The door opened, and a familiar woman exited the cabin. Shaw felt some relief fill him as the woman hurried to them, a bundle in her arms. "Is that you, Mathias?"

Shaw nodded, slowing his horse. "Yes, hello Amalia."

"I haven't seen you as of late," she said, "I was worried, with all this war nonsense."

"I had to help the family down south," Shaw said. "You didn't have any troubles with all that, did you?"

"Oh, there's always trouble with the Horde and those damned Syndicate, but the Alliance always made sure there were patrols down this way."

"That's good to hear," Shaw said, feeling the gaze Flynn was burning into him.

"Oh, where are my manners," Amalia said, turning to Flynn. "I'm Amalia."

"Flynn Fairwind," he replied, grinning wide with that stunning smile he had.

“Oh, where are you from?” Amalia asked, clearly taken aback by Flynn’s accent.

Flynn grinned a bit wider. Shaw had long become certain that Flynn loved the novelty of being a foreigner in another land. “Kul Tiras,” he replied.

“That’s far from Arathi,” she remarked. “A lot of travel.”

Shaw remembered how much he hated small talk, even when he wasn’t directly involved.

“There’s a lot of world to see,” Flynn shrugged, easy and friendly. Unlike Shaw, Flynn seemed to flourish in small talk, or any talk, for that matter. A small bit of envy had taken Shaw with how easily Flynn could carry a conversation, but at the same time, he was content without such a skill. Flynn took on a playful tone. “But I feel as if I haven’t been introduced to someone.”

“Oh yes,” Amalia beamed with a mother’s pride. “This is my third, a healthy baby boy.” She turned to Shaw. “We could think of no better name for him other than yours.”

Shaw blinked. It usually took a cold day in hell to catch him off-guard, but he was not at all prepared for that sentence. “Beg pardon?”

Amalia clutched her babe a little higher, as if she believed Shaw couldn’t see him. “We named him Mathias.”

Perhaps he should have felt honored, but Shaw was only filled with the most bizarre sense of… discomfort? That didn’t seem to fit the feeling, but he couldn’t readily identify it or ascribe a better word for it. “I don’t know what to say,” he replied honestly after a moment.

“Would you like to hold him?”

Panic bubbled up within Shaw. Not this again. “I—”

Shaw’s discomfort must have been fairly visible, as Flynn swiftly cut in, “actually, we got to be going. We brought fish for dinner, and you know how well fish keeps.”

“Oh, of course,” Amalia said, disappointment tainting her words, just the slightest, before she gathered herself again. “Well, if you two need anything, just let us know and we’ll help.”

Shaw gave her a tight smile and a tighter nod, and he was finally released from the conventions of polite conversation. Amalia trudged back to her home, and the two carried on.

After an appropriate amount of time and a good distance from the cabin, Flynn, who had been nearly vibrating with the contents of the last conversation. “How often does that happen?” he asked,

Shaw, who had been trying his best to untense his muscles, looked to Flynn. “People trying to get me to hold their babies? Often enough. _That?_ That was new.”

Flynn gave a slight smile, more sympathetic. “You looked like you were going to die from embarrassment.”

Shaw cringed. “Please say I wasn’t that obvious.”

“She didn’t seem to notice,” Flynn said. Perhaps they had spent enough time together that he could read Shaw well enough to decipher the few tells he was incapable of masking. That was almost frightening, and Shaw pushed the thought away as Flynn spoke again. “What was that all about?”

“Last time I was up here, they were being attacked by the local bandits. I took care of them. I suppose it meant more to them than I realized.”

“Don’t know if you know this, but for most people, saving someone’s life isn’t just something you do.”

“I suppose I don’t,” Shaw said.

Flynn, ever more astute than he would dare admit, changed the subject. “So, you were down south, “helping the family.” ”

“I didn’t say it was my family.”

Flynn laughed at that. "Y'know, I should've known that this was your brand of crazy."

Shaw looked back to Flynn. "And what's that?"

"Running away from work to the middle of nowhere, where people don’t know you."

The corner of Shaw's mouth quirked up. He supposed that made sense. “Next cabin we approach is mine.”

“How’d you get a cabin all the way out here, anyway?”

“It was my mother’s,” Shaw said. The cabin was in sight now as they crested another hill. “It’s been a couple years since I last came out here.”

“Got yourself a little vacation for hard work?”

Shaw shook his head. “I lost someone close to me. Had to take some time to think.”

“Heave to: you had a friend? I scarcely believe it.”

Shaw scoffed at the dripping sarcasm in that, and Flynn cackled. “I have many friends, just for your information.”

“Oh, have you now? How many living friends do you have?”

Well, that was an unfair way of asking it. “What is this, an interrogation?” Shaw asked, voice filled with mirthe as he slowed his horse. He got off his horse, running a hand across it as he led it over to the tall grass. Flynn followed, a spring to his step, as he said, “hey, hey, wait a minute.”

Shaw paused, turning to look at Flynn. Flynn came close, pausing to look over Shaw with this near reverence like quality, before taking the last half-step to Shaw and cupping a hand to his cheek and pressing a kiss to his lips, tender and sweet. “Thank you,” Flynn said when he broke apart, pressing his forehead to Shaw’s. “For sharing this with me.”

Shaw found Flynn’s hand, entwining his fingers with the other man’s. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to share this with anyone else.” For someone who gave out a lot of affection and praise, Flynn struggled to take it with grace. He grinned wide, wider than his face could seem to accommodate, and seemed to attempt to hide his face against Shaw so he couldn’t see it. It was always an incredibly endearing sight to Shaw, filling him with a fuzzy warmth, and he fought down his smile enough to raise Flynn’s hand to his mouth and give his knuckles a kiss. “Come on,” he said.

They took care of their horses before heading in. Shaw, still not having a key, knelt down to pick the lock, which Flynn wasted no time at all in making fun of it. “Are you just breaking into a random person’s home?”

“I never got a key,” Shaw said as he levered his torsion wrench in the lock.

“Are you sure this is your place, then?”

The lock clicked into place. “Yes.”

Shaw pushed the door open, feeling a surprising amount of relief, as if he was carrying stress with him on this trip, and only now could he let it go. Perhaps that conversation with Amalia was the culprit. “Home sweet home,” he said. “It’s not much.”

“Four walls, a roof, a place to sleep, that’s all you need,” Flynn hummed, setting things down onto the table. Perhaps that sentence could be analyzed, unpacked further to see where it stemmed from. It would lead to nothing good, and so Shaw left it alone.

The full-length mirror, propped up against the wall; Shaw had forgotten it was there, in all honesty, and it caught him by surprise as he crossed the room.

It had been nearly two years since he could tolerate his reflection. Ever since he got back from— ever since he got back, he struggled with the sight of himself. It was strange, how seeing someone else wear your face made you so untrusting whenever you saw it, saw yourself. Shaw had gotten good at shaving without a mirror since he got back, as every time he saw himself staring back at him, his fight or flight instinct kicked in. It was a ridiculous thing to think, that his own reflection terrified him, but acknowledging that did little to change it.

It wasn't just that. The Burning Legion had a way of searing every moment of Shaw's time in captivity into his mind, unable to ever escape them. As he looked away from his face, down at his bare arms in the mirror, he was forced to remember being held down, remember the wretched sobs they managed to wrench from him as they did what they did, the memory so vivid that it could have been yesterday.

The worst thing was the fact that there was not a single scar on his body from the incident. Nothing, not a single thing to say that Shaw survived something, nothing to confirm that what happened was even _real._

The first week he was back in Stormwind had been the hardest time in his life. He struggled to come to grips with it, with himself, with his memories. He had practiced getting dressed in his armor for the first time since before the Cataclysm, this time entirely in the dark so he couldn't see himself. All the mirrors in his home were covered up, and they still were, as Shaw waited for the day that looking in the mirror didn't make him afraid again.

That day was not today. Shaw tore his gaze away from the mirror as he remembered the shame he felt when he was brought to tears the first time. "Can you cover that damn thing up?" Shaw asked before he could think to police his tone, moving so it wasn't in his peripherals anymore.

There was silence for a beat. "The mirror?" Flynn asked.

"Yes," Shaw said, and then, "please."

Flynn moved behind Shaw, making an uncertain hum as he looked. "What if I just turn it around?"

"That's fine," Shaw said. "Just do it."

"Didn't think you were scared of mirrors," Flynn murmured, the sounds of the heavy, reflective glass being moved. He said it in his voice that was meant for levity, light and poking fun.

"I'm not," Shaw said, and it came out far more defensive than intended. "It just... brought up some bad memories." He moved to the bed, taking a seat on the edge and pressing his palms to his eyes. He tried to desperately get his mind off of those events, not wanting to think of all the nights that left him sobbing from the pain.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No," Shaw said, lacking any hesitation. "No, I don't."

"I'm here for you if you do."

It was a sentiment that Shaw had rarely heard. Only a few people ever voiced it to him. "Thank you," Shaw said, trying to ignore the tightness in this throat.

Flynn busied himself with poking around the cabin while Shaw sat on the bed, trying to calm himself down. _Light,_ he was a grown man freaking out over seeing himself in the mirror.

"So, this was your mum's place?" Flynn asked after a good amount of time passed.

"Yeah," Shaw said.

"Is she still kicking around?"

Shaw thought of his conversation with Freemore the day he took up his grandmother's mantle. "No," he said with no particular tone or inflection. "She's gone."

"Did she leave anything for you?"

"I was fairly young then.”

"Maybe she still did." Flynn turned to Shaw, mid-rummaging through a drawer. "Did you look around?"

Shaw nearly scoffed. "Of course I did."

“Well, I am a treasure hunter, you know,” he pulled out a drawer from the cupboards, flipping it over and examining it. “I know where people hide their booty.”

They didn't acknowledge the mirror for the rest of their time there.

* * *

"Okay," Flynn said one morning. "I have got to ask, what's with the birds?"

Shaw, this far, had been ignoring Flynn as he rummaged around the cabin like he had lost something. He had been engrossed in his book—he had a few that he had been meaning to read stashed up here that he forgot about—so he hadn't really been paying attention to what Flynn was doing. "What birds?" he asked absentmindedly, keeping his focus on the book.

"Look."

Shaw reluctantly tore his gaze away from _Aegwynn and the Dragon Hunt,_ finding Flynn standing next to the table, a large pile of Shaw's carvings on the table. "Oh," he said, "I didn't realize I had so many."

"You..." Flynn picked up one of the carvings, looking it over before glancing back at Shaw with a confused expression. "...collect little bird statues?"

"I make them," Shaw said.

"Oh." Flynn looked at the bird again with a more critical eye. "Didn't peg you as a craftsman."

"It's just a hobby," Shaw frowned. "Something to keep my hands busy. It helps me think." Flynn's attention had turned entirely to Shaw's bird carvings, hesitating for a moment before reorienting the statues so that they stood upright. Shaw watched him for a moment before going back to his book.

"These are good," Flynn piped up after a minute or so.

Shaw looked up from his book again, seeing that Flynn had organized the small carvings on the table. "Thank you, I suppose."

"That _is_ what most people say in response to compliments." Flynn made his way over to the chair Shaw was sitting in, and he watched with quickly growing horror as Flynn dipped down to scoop Shaw from the chair. Every muscle in Shaw tensed with that, clutching the book as Flynn repositioned them, Flynn sitting in the chair and cradling Shaw in his lap. One arm of the chair was pressed into Shaw's back as the other was jammed into the back of his thighs.

"...why?" Shaw asked, still tense.

"I don't think you'd appreciate me crushing your lap," Flynn said, "and for some reason, you don't have a couch."

"Do you know how to make a couch?"

"No?"

"Do you want to drag a couch out here?"

Flynn paused to consider that. "Fair play." He looked over at Shaw and squinted. "Why do you look like that?"

"I'm very uncomfortable."

"What, I can't just do a nice romantic gesture?"

"The arm of the chair is pressing into my spine."

Flynn pulled Shaw a little closer, pressing a kiss to the corner of Shaw's mouth. "I forget you're a crotchety old man sometimes."

"Shame," Shaw said. "I'm forever reminded that you're a loud and insolent bastard."

"Oof," Flynn said as he grinned wide, "got a sailor's mouth on ya."

"Is that a lead up to you kissing me after a comment about _your_ sailor's mouth?"

"Ah, you're going to have to add predictable to that list."

"You've been predictable for a while." Flynn laughed, something light that brought a smile to Shaw's face. They kissed again, noses bumping briefly as they both struggled to fight down their smiles. After a moment, Shaw broke away. "I wasn't joking, this position is very uncomfortable."

Flynn let out an over-dramatic sigh and shifted Shaw in his lap, pulling Shaw's back to his chest. "So what are you reading, anyway?"

* * *

The White Lady was full in the sky, lighting up the highlands as best she could. There was a breeze coming from the north, keeping the air a bit cooler than what was comfortable. It would be a few more hours until dawn, but here Shaw was, sitting on the boards of his porch, watching the grass move in the wind as his mind was elsewhere.

He shouldn't be here. 

He was allowed to take a vacation.

He should be in Stormwind, he had a job to be doing.

He could take some time off, Renzik was more than capable of holding things down.

When he failed to do his job, people got hurt. Amber, Varian, Tiffin, Edwin—

Edwin wasn't Shaw's fault.

Wasn't he? Shaw neglected his job then, he could've done something, he could've—

Shaw was startled from his thoughts, hands instinctively going to his waist at the sound of wood creaking before realizing that it was the cabin door. Flynn stepped out into the porch, pulling the door closed behind him. "You should be sleeping," Shaw said, just for the sake of levity, for his sake.

Flynn let out a quiet laugh at that as he crossed towards Shaw. "Don't think you got any right to say that when you're the one out here brooding," he said, joining Shaw on the porch stoop.

"I'm not brooding," Shaw said. "I'm just thinking."

"I think if you're doing it in the middle of the night when you could be in bed with an attractive man, it counts as brooding."

So maybe he was. Did it matter? Shaw's skin prickled with a particularly strong gust of wind, one that made the few trees nearby make the audible sound of their boughs bending and leaves rustling. "What are you thinking of, then?" Flynn asked.

Shaw could be honest. He didn't know if he wanted to, to dredge up all the melancholic and shamed self-inflicted feelings he had and just pour them onto Flynn. So he took a moment, thought it through. "I like to keep myself busy, with work, just in general. As it turns out, I seemed to have forgotten why."

Shaw didn't look towards Flynn, but felt his air of understanding. "You wanna talk about it?" He asked, leaning back.

"Not particularly."

Flynn was silent for a moment. "I... I know it sounds uncomfortable, but I've always found that talking about something helps me... accept it, move on from it, something like that." Flynn picked at his fingernails. "I guess putting it into words lets me acknowledge what's actually bothering me or something, otherwise all the emotion just sits in me. I dunno. Just something to try if you want."

They sat in silence for a while after that, listening to the wind in the trees and grass and the songs of insects that called those places home. Shaw turned Flynn's words over in his head, tearing through them with the same analytical level he did with any report on Horde activity from the past decade. To just rip open old wounds like that...

He thought of Baros, the practical, sensible man, of what he would say, _is it ripping open an old wound, or is it making sure you're healing properly from the injury?_

Well, Baros probably would say something a little less well put together than that, but the sentiment would be there, and the man was dead, might as well paint him favorably in Shaw's memories.

"I..." Shaw started, then stopped, trying to figure out how to proceed. Flynn sat beside him with a patience rarely seen in the man. He tried again. "My job was specifically made to ensure the safety of the crown and the kingdom. SI:7 is essentially the first line of defense in a battle, long before the troops gather on either side. It's our job to catch things, to stop them before they even have the chance to happen. And we can't catch everything, I know that. I've known that for as long as I've been in the position." Shaw's throat tightened. "But I can't shake myself of the guilt that comes with messing up."

It was silent for a moment. Long enough for Shaw to feel utterly foolish.

"I get that," Flynn murmured, sitting up again. "I used to feel that, when I was a pirate captain. Stakes weren't as high, but people still died. Still felt like it was my fault, like I didn't do enough.

"The cost of doing business," Shaw said, a bit distant.

"Yeah, suppose it is." The wind pushed the tall grass to one side, making strange ripples in the moonlight, like waves at sea. "Did I ever tell you about how I became a pirate?"

"No, you haven't." There wasn't much Shaw could dig up on the pirate before he was granted clemency and put into the harbormaster's custody, at least, not much that was concrete.

"I was..." Flynn was silent as he thought. "Tides, must've been 16 or so. I had a friend, one of the better ones moral wise, he got pressed into service with the navy right before the third war. Talked about how much it was an honor it was to serve and all that." He trailed off, and Shaw waited for him to continue. "He, uh... he died at Theramore."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's past now," he shrugged. "I don't know if you blokes in Stormwind had something like Theramore, but it rocked everyone in Kul Tiras when we got that news. How could something like that happen, y'know? The Admiral's daughter just... murdered him. And it's like, we get the situation now, and it's all fine now, but at the time..."

Flynn sighed and threaded his hair between his fingers, idly brushing his hand through. "The long an' short of it is that I was terrified of something like that happening to me, and with the Theramore incident, there was suddenly a lot of vacancy within the navy."

It was easy to see where the story was going. "You were pressed into service.”

Flynn gave out the barest hint of a laugh. "Was given a recommendation to the Admiralty for my dutiful service on a trawler for the past few years. Got me in a year earlier than usual."

"I'm guessing you didn't end up joining the navy."

"Tides no, I was terrified of the prospect, not to mention I spent most of my life resenting authority. Thing is, trying to get out of service is a punishable offense, so I ran, and I ran to the one place the Admiralty wouldn't get to me, and that was Freehold. Had sailing skills, so finding work wasn't too bad. Got into smuggling trade goods to the cartels in Booty Bay and Kalimdor, and that progressed to other things. Soon enough I was a captain and I was in way over my head."

While nothing other than the standard piracy charges were tied to Flynn's name, there was an interesting string of crimes associated with Harlan Sweete and the ship that Flynn used to captain. Mostly rumors, but if even half of them were true, then Shaw didn't blame him for leaving.

"I was friends with Tae, y'know, before I left. Tried to pickpocket her and ended up on my arse." A fond smile graced his lips. "Friends ever since."

The corners of Shaw's lips tugged at the odd sentiment. "Your bar for friendship seems low."

"Sure is, considering what you were giving me to work with." He placed a hand above Shaw's knee and squeezed before pulling away again. "Anyway, I couldn't be in Freehold, and I couldn't be in Boralus. Thought I'd hitch a ride to Booty Bay on a friend's ship. Could you imagine the luck when we got stopped by an Admiralty ship? All of us got rounded up and sent back to Boralus to be hanged. Thought that was it for me, thought I was going to meet the same end my mother did.

"Tae saw me get hauled off the ship. From how I understand it, she got me in Tol Dagor rather than on the rope." Shaw briefly pondered how they got on this topic, but he wasn't about to interrupt Flynn. He liked listening to the man talk. "Cyrus visited me. When I was younger and hung out with Taelia, he always offered me a home-cooked meal and all that. I always appreciated it, but when I got older I felt bad about doing it."

Even mentioning that just made Shaw's stomach turn in empathy. "You wanted to repay the favor, but couldn't," he said, his voice quiet.

Flynn chuckled. "You know it, then?"

"I'm familiar."

"Well, he visited me the first week I was in there. I told him everything, how I couldn't do piracy and I didn't know how to get out of it, and I won't ever forget what he said to me. He said to me, 'Flynn, I can get you out of there. It'll be a lot of strings to pull, but I can, and you got to promise me that you'll keep out of trouble.' He was giving me another chance, and I took it.

"I was in there for another three months before getting released, and I was hauling for Cyrus ever since." He looked down at his lap. "I still don't know why Cyrus stuck his neck out for me," Flynn said. "Don't know what he saw in me that caused him to do it, and I don't think I'd get the honest answer if I asked."

Shaw understood the feelings behind the words with an intimacy, even if he didn't relate to the situation. "A friend of mine once put it that you can't try to explain people," Shaw said. "He said that people are ghost stories, and that once you try and explain the story, then there's no reason to tell it. He thought it was better to just enjoy the story."

"Ghost stories," Flynn echoed in a way similar to how one enjoyed a fine vintage; taking a tentative sip, swirling it around in your mouth to take in the flavor before reluctantly swallowing it down. "It makes it sound as if you're haunted."

"Aren't we all, at the end of the day?"

Flynn considered those words, and they sat in a comfortable silence as he did. The wind blew and the tall grass moved with it, the sounds of the plains encompassing them. Shaw’s reminded of the last time he sat with someone and watched the tall grass; Baros was helping his parents move out of their farmhouse and into the city, and Mathias managed to squeeze enough free time out of his day to make the trip and help.

 _I haven’t lived here in a while, but the thought of my parents leaving… it seems so strange,_ Baros had remarked. They sat on the barn roof, watching the wind blow the yellowing fields. The only thing that seemed to grow anymore was grass.

 _Things will change, with or without you,_ was Mathias’ reply.

 _I know, I know,_ Baros had sighed. _It’s just such a strange notion, the fact that my parents won’t be here anymore. All my life, we’ve been there._

Mathias had tilted his head back, feeling the sun warm his face. It had been a long day of moving valuables and the more important furniture into a wagon, and it would be a long trip to Stormwind. Exhaustion had begun to ebb its way in, taking a more chronic position in him.

Baros took a lay of the land before speaking again. _Y’know, I’ve been talking to some of the mages while we were working on the mage district. I mentioned that I was moving my parents out and that it felt weird that they wouldn’t be in Westfall anymore. One mage said that she had a running theory that our memories are tied to physical places, and that they’ll always be right here, in this house and in this barn, just waiting for me to come back and relive them._

Mathias had huffed in response. _I think that mages have too much time on their hands if they’re thinking up something like that._

Baros had given a laugh to that. _I don’t know, the more I think on it, the more it makes sense to me._

In the present, Flynn’s voice broke the silence.

"Tell me, Mathias Shaw, how many ghost stories do you know?”


End file.
